The Stones That Build A Well
by Porcelain Fish
Summary: Rated M for graphic violence, language, erotica, mature themes and disturbing imagery. Both good and evil lead the way to the mysterious well of life, becoming stones in its foundation. M/M Slash. Part II of the saga begins with CH16!
1. Act I: Dramatis Personae

**Author's Notes:**

You all know who Warcraft and all the applicable trademarks belong to. In case you missed the summary though, yes - it's slash/yaoi/male-on-male. Sorry, no actual sex in chapter 1.

Characters are original.

R&R at your own risk.

I am not responsible for resulting dementia.

* * *

Act I

Dramatis Personnae

Ambryn blushed bright red, color flooding into his cheeks. The human mage took a careful step back, jade eyes wary.

"I'm not interested," he said quietly, arms tightening around the grocery bag he held.

The troll snorted, clawed hands resting on his belt buckle, wild bright red hair spiked back from his head. His red eyes glided over the curling amber hair, the slender nose, the full lips, the shapely jaw.

K'dzok shook his head. "Sweetness, the sway of your hips says it all. You're looking to get laid, and I'm just the troll for the job."

Ambryn chose his next words very carefully, wary of provoking the much larger, probably faster, and almost certainly stronger troll into something more than a crudely worded proposition. "I'm just going to take this moment to point out that you're propagating a very negative Trollish stereotype, and that you're really not doing the general reputation of your race a favor by engaging in this sort of questionable behavior."

The troll's eyebrows rose slightly. "Which stereotype? That trolls like to fuck, and we like fucking sweet-ass little humans? It's true. I can already imagine those pretty lips wrapped around my cock." His body was already reacting to the direction of his thoughts. "Speaking of pretty, I'd really like to hear you let out a long, loud moan while I'm buried to the hilt in your ass." K'dzok grinned. "You've obviously never had troll cock before, or you'd be all over me with my pants down right here in the street."

"Actually, I was referring to the remarked-upon propensity for Trolls to behave in a sexually aggressive manner when the object of their attention has already displayed a negative reaction." Ambryn took another step backward.

It was driving K'dzok crazy, the way the smooth-skinned pretty-faced little human was playing games with him. He'd seen this game before, the retreat, the blushing denials - but this one wanted it, just like the others. He just didn't know it yet.

The troll moved with a speed his enemies respected on the battlefield, and suddenly he was close enough to smell the human perspiring, only instead of honest sweat, he smelled like those ointments they used to cover up their bodily smells, a teasing hint of cool mint. He looked and smelled clean and sweet, and those jade eyes were so bright, so wide. K'dzok had his fingers on the human's bicep, the flesh soft beneath his touch, careful to let his prey feel his claws without actually breaking the skin. _That_ part of the fun would come later.

Nathiel felt his temper boil over as the troll grabbed the human. It was the human's pleasing baritone that had caught his ear, and only as the conversation on this quiet little side street progressed had he noticed the steadily deepening fear in it as well. It wasn't the first time he'd seen a human and a troll pairing, though they were admittedly uncommon. In fact, seeing them with orcs and trolls and on occasion even tauren or draenei had soured him a bit on the race.

His fury at the other's presumption boiled out of his chest in a deep, threatening bass growl that made the troll's head whip around, long pointy ears alert, red eyes darting to the cross-alley.

K'dzok hesitated for a moment as the night elf stepped out of the alleyway. His instincts were already sizing up his opponent, noting that he was probably an inch or two taller, powerfully built but still lean and lithe, his eyes wells of silver. The dark blue hair was cut short, marking him as a bit of a maverick among his typically long-haired kin, the purple skin unmarred by scars, suggesting that either he hadn't seen that many fights, or he was very, very good. The way he moved suggested the latter.

On top of that, he was obviously furious.

K'dzok's battle-sense was telling him that he'd probably be in for the fight of his life. His loins were telling him that the human was his rightful prey and that this other male was poaching, looking to mate with the human instead. K'dzok's lips curled in a faint sneer. The street wouldn't be the best place for a fight, too much chance that the guard-

"Take your hand off him, or I'll rip off your whole god-damned arm," the night elf snarled in that same deep growl.

K'dzok had been quietly about to withdraw when the words hit him like a whip of fire and his pride got engaged. There was no way he was backing down now. This bastard was going down.

Ambryn let out a startled yelp as the hand around his arm tightened, claws digging into his flesh, and he was yanked in front of the troll, losing his grip on his grocery bag, fruits, vegetables, eggs, bread, all of it scattering over the street. This was getting dangerous. He could see the night elf clearly now, silver eyes blazing, body girded in night-blue armor, square jaw tight, handsome face set like granite, fists clenched.

He didn't have a weapon.

The nicked and scratched blade of an axe was hefted awfully close to Ambryn's face. He could see his own wide-eyed reflection in it.

"Come on and take him from me," the troll hissed.

"Let him go, and we'll settle this," the night elf said in his deep voice, silver eyes also going to that axe blade.

Kd'zok grinned, let the edge rasp softly against the human's cheek, watched as the anger in the night elf's face turned to boiling rage. He was going to hurt both of them before this was all over. The human might survive it, but the night elf? Oh hell no. He was going to be a mutilated, desecrated corpse, utterly unrecognizable by the time K'dzok finished with him, and that would be hours. He'd make the human watch, K'dzok decided. By the time he was done, the human would be putty in his hands, eager to please.

Nathiel knew the troll was deliberately baiting him, trying to get his rage to overcome his reason. The problem was, it was working, because the more fear he saw in the human's face, the more Nathiel wanted troll blood to stain the streets. He recognized as well that only part of what he was feeling was righteous indignation. There was also desire. He needed to finish this quickly.

K'dzok saw the night elf tense, set his feet and pulled the human back against him, enjoying the thrill as his erection throbbed against his prisoner's soft backside. The elf would come at him from his right side, the side with his axe arm, afraid of injuring the hostage. K'dzok wouldn't kill him immediately, just slice open his belly, hogtie him, and then give him enough of a healing potion to keep him alive for a few hours of entertainment.

The night elf moved, shape blurring. K'dzok had been expecting the shadow-meld. He wasn't worried. He swung, and his arm vibrated with the contact of his axe meeting resistance.

The axe flew from his broken fingers and K'dzok was still trying to process the excruciating agony of the night elf's booted heel crushing his hand when two strong, callused hands caught hold of his arm and twisted it behind his back. He arched his spine and let out a wail as ligaments tore, other arm flailing, human forgotten.

A booted foot swept his feet out from under him and the ground rose up to meet him with painful suddenness, stunning him for a moment. There was a heavy foot on his back. He let out another shriek as his arm was twisted further, bone grating, tendons popping.

"A few more turns, and I'll have it all the way off," the night elf said in a chillingly calm tone that made K'dzok whimper even harder. "Just lay there while I finish up."

"No pl-_auugh!_"

Ambryn trembled as the troll's scream of agony scraped at his ears, unable to look away as the night elf gave the arm he held another sickening twist. He stood frozen a few steps away. His rescuer's gaze held pure murder.

His voice, when it came out, was surprisingly calm. "Please don't. I wouldn't have his death on your hands for my sake."

Silver eyes snapped up, and Ambryn almost turned and ran as he met them. He trembled.

Nathiel's head came up at the sound of the human's voice, instinctively checking for injuries, but the silver-blue robes were unmarred, no blood immediately visible anywhere on his person. It took him a moment to process the words. He could feel the veins throbbing in his neck, pounding in his temples with his rage. He twisted the troll's arm just a little further, watched the jade eyes widen. "I very much doubt you're the first of your kind that he's raped. Even with a broken arm, he'll likely try it again." He couldn't help his tone, but it stung more than he cared to admit when the human's eyes widened further, fear returning in full force.

"I'll never do it again," the troll sobbed. "Please don't take my arm off! I swear I'll never do it again, never ever look at a human or elf again! I swear!"

"You're a fucking liar," Nathiel snarled quietly down at him.

"Please." Ambryn took one of the most terrifying steps forward in his life. Not even the troll had scared him as badly as this night elf did, and yet at the same moment, he was strangely drawn to the powerful creature who had just saved him. "We'll leave him for the watch. I'm sure you're right. He's probably done this before, and he should face justice."

Nathiel wavered. The words were soft, the tone tremulous, the bright jade eyes full of silent appeal. He looked down at the troll, felt his anger begin to subside. He spat on the pale green neck.

"You live today, but if I ever see you again, I'm going to kill you."

The troll just whimpered.

"Got any ro-"

Nathiel glanced up to see the human kneel next to his prisoner, suppressed a noise of disgust as gentle hands reached toward pale green flesh. And then suddenly ice was spreading across the troll's shoulders, binding him to the street, chill so intense that Nathiel could feel it. The troll immediately started to shiver. Nathiel backed off, and ice climbed the twisted arm, freezing it into place.

"Th-th-th-thank y-"

The troll's head rocked back as the human kicked him right in the teeth, and Nathiel felt his disgust replaced by something approaching admiration.

"I didn't do it for you," the human said quietly. "I did it for him, because he shouldn't have had to stop you in the first place."

K'dzok lay shivering the street, mangled shoulder already numb, and didn't say another word as hands searched his pockets and took his money, adding insult to very real injury.

"This should pay for your groceries." The night elf's tone was calm now.

"Thanks, but I'm not in the mood to cook any more."

"In that case, can I buy you dinner?"

Ambryn blinked, looked up into the handsome face, marveling at how those features had gone from being terrifying to being charming and distinctly attractive. He smiled brightly. "I'd be delighted."

Nathiel smiled back, troll almost forgotten until he noticed the growing red stains on the human's sleeve. "Actually, let's take you to a healer first," he murmured.

The weltering bruises in the shape of wiry, clawed fingers and the slender red cuts on the human's soft, pale skin were almost enough to make Nathiel go back and finish what he'd started right then and there. Then smaller, soft fingers were clasping his own, the pale, lovely face fixed in an expression of discomfort as the wounds were cleaned and a compress was applied over them and taped in place, and Nathiel was much more occupied with closing his own larger hand gently around them and rubbing reassuringly.

"What's your name?" he asked quietly.

"Ambryn Dellani." Ambryn looked up into those silver eyes, felt something unfurling in him as a big, callused, gentle hand rubbed gently against his palm. "What's yours?"

"Nathiel Highfury." Nathiel felt desire spike in him as he looked into Ambryn's jewel-like eyes. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Just put a little bit of salt and vinegar into the water when you bathe." The healer woman was either oblivious to the way they were regarding each other, or very discreet, because she paid them barely any mind. "Chamomile tea and a little willow extract will help with the pain as well," she added.

Nathiel paid her pittance of a fee out of the troll's coins, which was only fitting, and kept his grip on Ambryn's hand, pulling him gently to his feet, getting a smile of thanks in return.

He went for a little bit more of an upscale restaurant than he might have otherwise since it wouldn't really be his coin feeling the bite, one where they actually had menus instead of whatever the cook was serving for the day, and upscale wines.

The roast pheasant was excellent, the wine smooth, and the conversation pleasant. Nathiel learned that Ambryn was a mage in the seventh circle at Periont's Tower, working on mostly civic enchantments and a few of the city's shieldings, and told him a little about some of his jobs as a bodyguard for the guild Vir Aegeae.

It was easy to see the pleasure that danced in Ambryn's eyes, smile and laughter genuine, and yet, he seemed the slightest bit nervous, and Nathiel couldn't figure out for the life of him why.

Ambryn was falling fast. He could sense it. Nathiel was charming, handsome, intelligent, courteous, an absolute gentleman (when he wasn't ripping trolls' arms off), and Ambryn could feel desire growing in him.

There was just one problem. Ambryn had never actually been with anyone before. He knew how it worked, theoretically anyway, but he had no experience. He was desperately afraid that he was going to disappoint the night elf, not sure how far exactly this was going to go tonight, or even how far he wanted it to go.

Nathiel ordered a carriage to take them to Ambryn's home, sitting next to him on the seat, arm wrapped gently around him. He lowered his head, breathing in the scent of the human's hair, catching just a faint hint of soap and mint.

Ambryn's head turned. Nathiel pressed his mouth gently to the human's soft, full lips, and felt them tremble beneath his kiss. He pulled back after a moment, a little confused. Surely this wasn't his first . . . was it?

He saw the misgiving in the human's eyes. "I'm sorry," Ambryn said softly. "I don't know if I'm doing this right."

Nathiel felt tenderness and desire both grow in equal measure as he looked into those jade eyes, saw the trepidation there, and smiled. "You're doing just fine."

He'd half-thought he might not be sleeping alone tonight, but Ambryn's unspoken admission confirmed his suspicions. Nathiel almost sighed, because it had been a while for him, but he didn't want to rush Ambryn, and if there was a chance this could last . . . he twined a curling lock around his finger, admired the way the dark amber gold shone in the torchlight as the carriage rolled through the streets.

When the carriage stopped in front of the deep, open porch of the apartment building where Ambryn lived, Nathiel handed him out of the carriage, escorted him to the door, and kissed him again, gently. He almost abandoned his resolve when Ambryn's arms came up to curl around his shoulders, kiss deepening, but the human pulled away, color high, eyes bright.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "I had a wonderful time."

"I want to see you again," Nathiel said, not loosing his gentle but firm grip on Ambryn's hips.

The answering smile was radiant. Nathiel felt his heart beat a little bit faster.

"I'm with the circle the next three nights – it's easier to work when the city's asleep, but after that-"

"I'll come for you," Nathiel vowed.

Ambryn tilted his head back again, and this time it was Nathiel who broke the kiss. A heartbeat more and he would have gathered the human mage into his arms and then there'd be nothing but a bedding for sure, come rapture or ruin.

For a moment, Ambryn looked up at him, dazed, and then he smiled. "Thank you," he said quietly again.

Nathiel held open the door, and surreptitiously adjusted the large, all-too-blatant evidence of his arousal after Ambryn's back was turned, heading back to the carriage. He leaned back as it rolled once more into motion, legs crossed up on the opposite seat, arms folded behind his head, a broad smile on his face.

Part of him was thinking he should beat up more trolls, and the Sentinels might have the right idea. After all, tonight had been surprisingly lucrative, and he still had most of the troll's coins left. He must have just gotten paid. The other part was thinking about the taste of Ambryn's mouth, still flavored with sweet white wine and cherries from dessert.

All in all, it had been a great night, one of the best of his life.

Ж

K'dzok couldn't remember having a more miserable night in his life.

He'd been unconscious when the watch found him, waking quickly enough though when they cut a little into his shoulder in their attempts to get the magical ice off him, and several of them had jumped at the sound of his screaming as the arm was shifted.

None of his teeth were broken thankfully. The human's kick had damaged his pride more than anything else. With his pay gone, most of it still unspent, he hadn't been able to post bail, not that he probably would have been able to afford it anyway after his face was discovered to match that on a wanted poster for serial rape.

He sat in a cold, windowless stone cell barely large enough for him to sit down in, knee brushing the chamberpot, half out of his mind with pain. He glanced up woozily as the cell door opened, illumination from the mage-light outside outlining the hulking shape that filled the doorway, in particular the broad horns that stretched to either side of the great, shadowed head.

"K'dzok." The tauren reached up and lowered his hood, revealing ochre swirls in the chocolate-brown fur, shamanistic symbols of power tracing graceful geometric patterns around the dark animal eyes and down to the thick, mobile-lipped muzzle, disappearing beneath the folds of his mantle.

It took a moment for realization to sink in. "Mraugon." K'dzok didn't even try to sit up straighter. "The guild come to get me out?"

The hoof that came down on his injured shoulder turned his whole world into a white-hot blaze of agony, unearthly shrieks echoing in his ears. It was only when he came back to himself, his throat raw, that he realized the shrieks were his. Mraugon was squatting in front of him now. If K'dzok had had the strength, he would have gutted the bull-man with his clawed fingers.

"Orders," the tauren said casually, no hint of apology in his tone. "You fucked up big, pike-ears."

"That night-elf-" K'dzok snarled through fresh agony.

"Is the only reason you're still alive instead of having your guts pulled out on red-hot hooks right now," Mraugon cut him off. "The human you were about to bugger was the son of Ambassador Tybalt Dellani, a muckety-muck so high in Dalaran's hierarchy you wouldn't be allowed to lick his boots. The others, well, the guild could have made them go away at small expense, but you had to go and pick yourself an apple from way too high up in the tree. The fall isn't over yet either."

Fear, real and potent, started to seep in through K'dzok's rage. "What's Undoon going to do to me?"

"For now, cut you to recruit pay and ship you out of the city. You're a good fighter, and you've pissed off just enough of the right people that you might still be useful to the guild. You live through this - you might be allowed to work your way up the ranks again. Maybe."

Mraugon stood.

"Wait, aren't you going to heal me?" K'dzok knew he was whimpering again, and didn't care.

The tauren shaman shrugged. "Orders."

The cell door slammed shut once more.

K'dzok drifted in and out of consciousness that night, and by morning he was delirious with the pain. He let out a squeal as rough hands dragged him out into the cell corridor, unmindful of his injured arm, his bare feet scrabbling on the cold stone floor.

Sunlight blinded him, and when he stumbled and fell, steel-toed boots kicked him. He was yanked upright, someone pulling on one of his long ears, bone grating in his shoulder, and he let out another shrill scream. They wrestled him into the back of a wagon, and the last thing he heard before passing out from the pain was the sound of a goblin talking.

"Ve vill have to set ze bone first, zen ve can proceed viz realigning ze ligaments and ze application of ze frame."

Ж

Annatta Skysong looked deep into the mirror before her. Her eyes were yet blue, not blazing green with stolen eldritch magics. Her face, already slender before, was on the thin side now, her pale blonde hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. Her shape too, was slimmer than was truly attractive. In the years since the destruction of the Sunwell, she had only been able to partially stem the effects of its loss.

"I am Quel'dorei," she said to her reflection. "I am a descendant of King Dath'Remar Sunstrider." The mantra had become her constant companion. She'd been saying it since the day she'd fled Quel'thalas with her parents five years ago, since the day the Sunwell, the source of the High Elves' power, died. "I will feed upon nothing but the sun. I will feed upon only purity. I will not be corrupted."

The words sounded empty to her ears, lacking conviction. Indeed, they felt empty. Her lips tightened. She repeated the mantra again. "I am Quel'dorei. I am a descendant of King Dath'Remar Sunstrider. I will feed upon nothing but the sun. I will feed upon only purity. I will not be corrupted." There, that didn't sound quite so hollow. By the sixth repetition she was calm, cool, confident. Her ambitions were not impossible, only difficult. The walls were not closing in around her. She was here in Dalaran studying magic because it was the path to her victory and salvation for her few remaining people, not yet succumbed to the lure that had gripped those who now called themselves sin'dorei, Blood Elves.

It was not a prison.

She was not helpless.

Annatta took a deep breath, and turned away from the mirror, toward the jeweled box that sat next to her bed, unlocking it and taking out a phial of water that sparkled brilliantly as she held it up. She felt the pangs subside a little, hunger for magic and mana lessening, retreating. It was one of only three phials of water from the Sunwell her family had brought to Dalaran.

She was determined not just that there would be more, but that there would be a new Sunwell, a new source of strength for the Quel'dorei people. She would not succumb, would not become base and impure, would not sully herself with aught else. She held the phial close to her heart until she felt its warmth begin to wane, and quickly replaced it in its shelter, only the occasional glimmer to be seen in its waters now. It would rejuvenate itself in another two days. She could wait until then.

She locked the jeweled box, and walked briskly to the door, dressed in the flowing silver-blue robes of a mage of the seventh circle of Periont's Tower. Her circle was one of only nine such in an entire city of mages entrusted with the workings of the shieldings and the various life-sustaining magics that supported Dalaran and made it prosperous. Shieldings were one of the magics she needed to be the strongest at.

Each and every day she studied relentlessly, unwavering. The new Sunwell would need such shieldings, spells to keep its power contained, hidden from all who might attempt to despoil it. Another vital task the circle was entrusted with was the maintenance of the flow of the city's magical reservoirs, to keep it afloat in the sky over Crystalsong forest. She'd studied hard to reach this circle in particular, because that ability to draw and purify magic would also be essential.

Let others study the battle magic of Urdrahn Tower or Beldinfast. Let the short-sighted fools wave their flashy fire spells around, and see how much good it would do them. Anatta didn't begrudge them those foolish studies. She'd need such fools when she was finally ready to begin her quest to the Well of Eternity. No mere vial would she steal, no - she intended to have buckets of its substance.

She blinked as she entered the Tower, distracted from her thoughts as she caught sight of a familiar human spinning in a slow circle before he chuckled and glided the rest of the way across the intersecting hallway. The curly honey-amber curls were unmistakable, but the mannerism was completely and utterly unlike the quiet young man she'd come to know and even respect a little over the last year and a half. Her first thought was that he was drunk, or on drugs, but that too, was utterly unlike him.

She'd thought at first that his appointment to this particular circle, the circle she'd worked so hard to gain access to, was a result of his father's political patronage, but after a few nights working with him, there was no denying the young man's magical talent. Ambryn Dellani was skilled and powerful, and she suspected if he ever got around to truly applying himself he'd rise far higher than this circle.

Unless he was drunk. Or on drugs.

Annatta hiked up the hems of her robes slightly and hurried after him, not sure what she was going to do if he was intoxicated but certainly hoping it wasn't the case. The circle could still function without him but it would definitely be seriously impaired.

She rounded the corner as the sound of his humming reached her ears, what sounded like a waltz, and though he wasn't dancing any more, his usual sedate glide had gained a little bit of a sway.

"Ambryn," she whispered. "_Ambryn!_" The second time it was a hiss and the human turned, mouth falling slightly open as he caught sight of Annatta, cheeks turning bright red, smile vanishing behind an unmistakable wave of embarrassment.

She glanced around. There was no one else in sight. She hurriedly dragged him into a cross-corridor.

"Annatta." Ambryn's jade eyes were apprehensive. "Is everything all right?"

Annatta blinked, because he'd stolen the words right out of her mouth. She snorted. "That's what I want to know. You're acting in the most bizarre fashion I've ever seen. Are you drunk?"

She sniffed, but there wasn't even a hint of alcohol about him, just the faint smell of mint that seemed to pervade the air in his presence, crisp and clean.

"I . . . I'm fine." Then he smiled, a brilliant smile she'd never seen before, so radiant she found herself smiling back without knowing why. "Oh Annatta, I think I'm in _love_!"

The whispered announcement hit Annatta like a gnomish steam-engine. She just stared at him for a moment, smile still on her features. "Oh." She paused, trying to kick her brain back into gear. "Congratulations, that's wonderful!"

Ambryn abruptly took hold of her hands, jade eyes bright. "Oh Annatta, he's wonderful. Tall and heroic and handsome and gentlemanly. I mean, I've seen night elves before, but-"

The words _he_ and then _night elf_ hit her like the first gnomish steam engine's speeding compatriots, the three of them engaged in a race with no thought for the casualties they were leaving in their wake. She couldn't help it. What came out then was a less enthusiastic "Oh."

She'd had vaguely amorous plans for the young Dellani involving making equally vague use of his family's political power to get access to a gate circle after she'd finished with this one. It was fortunate that she'd found out now before she started wasting her time. Another woman she could compete with, but if she was on the entirely wrong side of the gender line then there was simply no help for that.

But a night elf on top of it. The kal'dorei were fiercely outspoken in their criticism of their pale-skinned cousins. Annatta couldn't help but wonder if Ambryn's lover might turn his head enough that he joined in the suspicions and prejudices of the rest of the Alliance.

". . . promised he'd come for me again in three days, can you believe it?" Ambryn seemed to take notice of her glassy-eyed stare and fixed expression at last, suddenly looking pensive all over again. "I know that the high elves and the night elves aren't fond of each other, and frankly I don't understand why politics that old should really matter anyway, but he's really and truly a gentleman."

Annatta's brain had recovered, except she found herself facing in an altogether new mental direction, one that frightened her with its possibilities even as it thrilled her to the depths of her soul. She shook herself, met Ambryn's worried expression with a rueful smile.

"I'm sorry, I just . . . I was a little bit surprised." She was thinking quickly now, regaining her mental footing, realigning her priorities. "I mean, you know that night elves aren't fond of arcane magic – it's one of the reasons they're so critical of the rest of us. But he's open-minded enough to accept you as a mage. That's wonderful!"

Annatta tucked his arm into hers, watched that dazzling smile that involuntarily thrilled even her return, and walked beside him back down the hall. "I haven't yet fallen in love with someone myself," she added "although I've fancied a few men." She added a giggle and then whispered "and a woman or two as well." She patted his arm. "But tell me about him – you said he's a gentleman . . ."

Annatta stared once more into the mirror in her room. Ambryn had blazed like a star in the circle tonight, touch graceful and sure, more than making up for Grenedine, who was struggling with a cold. His joy seemed to infect the rest of the circle as it had infected her, a sort of breathless cheer that made the chants lighter, the spells stronger, giving the webs they spun out of magic a sparkling vivacity.

She stared into the mirror because her plans were barely formed, and they were already weighing her down with a mountain of guilt. She'd listened to Ambryn go on about Nathiel until she could almost see him herself, tall and powerful, graceful and lithe, skin purple, hair cut short, silver eyes flashing alternately with terrifying fury and sweet warmth.

Her goals weren't impossible, but she wasn't sure whether achieving them had just become less difficult, or even more so. She opened the jeweled box by her bedside, not to draw on its strength, but to remind herself of her purpose, and stopped, stunned.

The waters gleamed, shimmering with magical life. She could feel the power in them without even touching the phial. For a moment Annatta simply stared at it, and then she shut the box, gaze turning back to the mirror, renewed determination in the eyes of her reflection.

"I am Quel'dorei. I am a descendant of King Dath'Remar Sunstrider. I will feed upon nothing but the sun . . ."

Ж

K'dzok was in hell.

He lay in the back of the wagon as it traveled south through the Crystalsong forest, every bump in the road sending a new jolt of agony through his ruined shoulder. He couldn't bear to look at it, couldn't stand to see the skin flayed back, tendons and muscles held in place with pins, couldn't look at the strips of metal they'd bolted right to his bones.

The goblins had given him drugs - powerful drugs, and yet they weren't powerful enough to drag him from consciousness for very long, weren't strong enough to do more than blunt the deepest edge of the pain, leaving throbbing fire still to torment him, and in a way, that was worse.

He could hear the goblins talking between alternating bouts of unconsciousness and delirium, chittering really, using strange words like "anemial cable" and "compression tube" and "atrial cog". If it was magic, it didn't seem to be doing him much good.

There was never a moment of peace, never a moment when he didn't hear them muttering or gabbling, never a moment when he didn't feel little hammers and picks and needles and knives and awls, ruining his shoulder and upper arm past all recognition.

And then one night, cold came - frigid, bitter cold, snaking over him in his sleep and he dreamed. He dreamed of hair that glimmered in the sun, and wide jade eyes and blushing cheeks, dreamed of full lips, dreamed of ice that finally took his pain away, numbed it until he felt nothing.

He waited, once more, for that humiliating kick in the teeth, the scornful words, but it never came. There was only the cold, numbing and strangely comforting. He could feel it creeping across him, wiping out all his agony, and slowly, he slipped into true slumber.

Nabniath drew back, licked the blood that covered her lips. She hadn't been able to resist its scent, its warmth. It was the siren call of hot blood that had drawn her to this poorly guarded wagon in the first place.

The goblins lay broken around the wagon bed. Nabniath cared nothing for them, felt no desire to taste them. She'd drunken her fill of the human driver, but the blood elf had somehow escaped her binding spell while she feasted on his comrade.

Ordinarily she felt as little desire for the blood of trolls as she did for goblins, but this maimed, half-ruined troll . . . there was something in him that intrigued her, something mesmerizing in the way he muttered, his moanings and broken whispers gamboling in her ears as she stalked the wagon, a strange sort of music that whispered of madness and ruin and despair. It was a melody that resonated with the withered heart that hadn't beat in her breast since the day Arthas had returned to Lordaeron.

And so she'd knelt, laving her cold tongue over the troll's inflamed shoulder, tasting the bones, the tendons, the muscle, the ligaments, oddly and yet compellingly flavored with smoky iron and sharp brass and tangy copper, seasoned with narcotics and opiates.

He'd quieted beneath the touch of her lips, her mouth, and she wondered a little at how his expression eased now, brow relaxing, breathing quieting, for all the world as though he found her touch soothing. The thought was incredible to her, that in his moment of suffering, she, in her hunger, had brought him ease.

She would be gentle, she decided, compelled by an unfamiliar sense of tenderness. He would not suffer any further.

Had she a heartbeat to drown out the sounds around her, blood to pump in her veins, breath to sigh through her chest, she might never have heard the tiniest scuff that warned her, head stopping halfway to the troll's chest where his heart yet labored on.

She leapt backward, canvas tearing around her as a bolt of lightning crackled through the place where she'd just been a fraction of a second before, the force of her leap carrying her backward into the embrace of the cold tree boughs. She clung for a moment to a tree trunk, utterly still as only a dead thing could be, making no sound.

She heard the whispers on the breeze, sensed the magic as it coalesced, and her lips shaped a charm of her own a heartbeat before flame wreathed the crowns of the trees and swept down with magical hunger, crackling over her spell-shield.

She thought for a moment of pursuing the battle, but these flames were a mage's work, and if there was a mage and a shaman, there were surely soldiers, perhaps even an accursed priest. Likely that was exactly what they were waiting for, for her to emerge.

Nabniath hadn't lived this long in her violent second life by being a fool. Yet even as she mouthed the spell that would carry her away, symbols flashing with power in her mind, her glassy gaze went back to the wagon, piercing through the shroud of flames to the red-haired troll that now lay quiet within, her death-glazed eyes glowing with unearthly red light, still fixed, mesmerized even as they discorporated.

Mraugon ignored the warning creak of the wagon's floorboards beneath his weight, unmindful of the goblin skull that gave with a weak, wet _crunch_ as his hoof crushed it, dark animal eyes going to where K'dzok lay, breathing slow, green skin pale nearly unto death.

And yet there was life in him still. Mraugon could smell it, not yet the cold, burning stench of undeath. Seeing the undead, he hadn't been sure whether or not it would be the case.

He studied the bone and muscle laid bare in the once-powerful shoulder and arm, licked clean even of blood, tissues gleaming, bone ivory-white. The goblins had been nearly done with their work.

Mraugon reached for a screwdriver, thick fingers handling the little tool with a deftness those who didn't know him would have found hard to believe, and started turning the last two screws on Gribninak's Frame.

He had his orders, after all.

K'dzok woke, and his breath froze in his chest, because the pain was utterly gone. It seemed like an eternity had passed since he'd last felt this way. It was as though it had all been a nightmare, a fever dream, the terrible agony dying at last, conquered by sweet, blessed ice.

He sat up gingerly, feeling light-headed and off-balance, one hand going to his temple. He glanced down at his bare shoulder. Slim, pale lines bisected a thick ridge of scar tissue all the way from his collarbone to the bottom of his right bicep, off-white against the rest of his pale green skin. He stood on shaky legs and staggered out of the tent.

The chill was like a slap in the face, and yet he found he welcomed it, welcomed the claws it dug into his body, making him feel gloriously alive. He drew himself up, gazing out over the tents and lodges, hides and fabrics rippling and swaying beneath the unceasing wind that rushed over the Borean Tundra, and smiled.


	2. Act I Scene II: The Cards Come Up Lovers

**Author's Notes:**

Yeah, still no sex. I'm working on it.

You all know who Warcraft and all applicable trademarks belong to, and all of the canon characters, including Tyrande. The rest are mine.

R&R if you like, but remember, if you start foaming at the mouth, it's your issue, not mine. I take no responsibility for resulting psychological damage if my writing breaks your brain.

Oh, and I did a little something with formatting to make it easier to distinguish changes in locations.

* * *

Act I, Scene II

The Cards Come Up Lovers

Three priestesses considered the sign their goddess had given them. Three priestesses looked up from the pool between them, meeting each other's gazes with a deliberate equinamity that could not conceal the apprehension in their eyes. Three priestesses rose from the cushions of gray silk they'd knelt upon.

The symbol they'd seen at that same twinkling moment in the moonlit waters before it was overtaken by enigmatic clouds was unmistakable, each seeing confirmation in their sister priestesses' eyes.

Elune had given them a clear sign. It remained to be seen what exactly she had warned them about. Opportunity and calamity, luck and ill fortune, light and darkness. All these things were sides of the same coin.

The denominations of this coin however, were enough to make the three of them tremble.

Tyrande would need to be warned. The Cenarion Circle must be roused. The omens had to be divined before fate took them unawares. They could not afford another such disaster as the destruction of Nordrassil. The Kal'dorei had learned all too well that isolation gained them nothing. This time they would know what was coming before it was upon them.

Ж

Nathiel ignored the humans who shot him sideways glances as he waited in the lobby of Ambryn's apartment building, their surreptitious gazes of little concern. They were almost without exception mages, clad in robes of varying colors and styles denoting the towers they served and worked and researched in.

He was prepared for a night of leisure this time, his night-blue plate armor left at home. He wore a pale blue shirt, the top few buttons undone, and black slacks over well-polished boots. His black jacket was left unbuttoned, hands tucked into his pockets as he waited. He'd arrived fifteen minutes early and it was five minutes past when Ambryn was supposed to show, but his impatience was anticipatory, not annoyed. He was looking forward to tonight.

His gaze caught on a cloud of golden, curly hair like rich, spun honey across the lobby, and his heart beat faster. He moved towards the lift, ignoring the alarmed glance the concierge and the security guard shot him.

Ambryn wore a shirt of opaque, embroidered white lace with wide, sweeping sleeves. The collar was high, but open in front, giving an air of elegance without being overly formal or conservative, short tails untucked to add to the air of casual grace, with a light vest of green silk buttoned in brass and a pair of dark slacks. In particular, Nathiel's gaze lingered on Ambryn's hips, the way that the vest gathered in fabric to emphasize the lines of his smaller body, not childishly slim, but shapely.

Those jade eyes brightened at the sight of him, a smile shaping the full lips, and Nathiel laid his hands unhesitatingly on the hips he'd been admiring, enjoying the way his large hands fit over them. He didn't hesitate, but bent, and pressed his lips to Ambryn's, gently, but firmly, restraining himself from more with an effort.

The jade eyes were sparkling up at him as he pulled back, color in the human mage's cheeks, smile turned a bit more shy, and somehow more intimate as well.

Ambryn tilted his head back as Nathiel approached, felt a breathless rush of excitement as the night elf's hands came to rest confidently at his waist. He didn't have a chance to say hello. Nathiel's kiss made his thoughts spin into unrecognizable chaos, and there was nothing to be done but forget whatever they'd been.

"Hello." Nathiel's bass voice was smooth and warm. He smiled warmly. "You look stunning."

Ambryn felt more heat rise to his cheeks. "Thank you." He lowered his gaze, biting his lips, trying to reconstruct his derailed train of thought. His eyes lingered on the hollow of Nathiel's throat and the small portion of hard, slightly hairy chest that was visible. He tried to think of an appropriate way to respond.

"You're . . . remarkable," he managed at last, blushing even harder as he looked up, meeting those silver eyes once more.

A thumb and gentle finger caught beneath his chin, and the look on Nathiel's chiseled features was enough to make Ambryn forget to breathe for a moment. The night elf's lips were on his once more, and a strong, hard arm slid around his waist.

Nathiel realized that the other humans were staring openly now, didn't conceal the faint smirk that crossed his features as he put an arm around Ambryn and escorted him out, holding the door for him. The doorman started as he spotted Ambryn nestled securely under Nathiel's arm and quickly handed him the bouquet he'd been holding, blushing furiously.

Ambryn blinked as the roses were presented, taking them carefully in his arms. The sweet, light scent, combined with the nearness of Nathiel's body and the sensation of his touch did beautifully devastating things to Ambryn's equilibrium. He felt warmth flush all through him, intoxicating and dizzying.

A carriage waited for them at the base of the steps down from the porch, and Ambryn reached out to get a hold of the handle to pull himself up onto the step only to feel Nathiel's hands on his hips once more, lifting him smoothly before he could even step up.

Nathiel couldn't resist showing off a little by lifting Ambryn in his arms, and truth be told, his date felt pleasingly light in his hands without being overly airy, as though he'd been built with Nathiel in mind. Nathiel smiled at the thought as he followed Ambryn into the carriage. He wanted to pull Ambryn into his lap, but it was probably still a little soon for that, especially the way the human still blushed shyly around him.

"I've been looking forward to tonight," he said quietly, wrapping one arm around Ambryn's shoulders.

Ambryn leaned gingerly against the big night elf warrior, relishing the feel of the hard muscles of Nathiel's body as a big, powerful arm settled around him in a very pleasing fashion.

"I could hardly think of anything else," he admitted.

Nathiel's libido had let him know in no uncertain terms that Shyster's was the fast track into Ambryn's pants. He knew from experience that the club's dim lighting, deep-throated night elf drums, sexually-charged atmosphere, and strong alcohol combined to form a powerful aphrodisiac that no partner had ever been able to resist.

His better sense had won out. He was glad now that it had. He could still sense the tentativeness in Ambryn's body, not yet fully relaxed in his embrace. Shyster's would have been a disaster with someone so completely inexperienced. The carriage didn't take the right on Madront Avenue that would have taken them to the nightclub, continued on down the boulevard instead past Dalaran's red light district, headed toward the bright magical lights of Canticle Quarter.

Ambryn smiled warmly at Nathiel as the big night elf handed him out of the carriage. His jade eyes lingered for a moment before slipping past him, over his shoulder.

They sparkled anew, a half-incredulous smile pulling at his lips, and Nathiel silently congratulated himself as he settled his hand once more against the small of Ambryn's back and escorted him up the steps towards the polished double doors and broad, white marble of the hall.

The Cerulean Lights was a club of a different sort from Shyster's, a lot more expensive, and if Nathiel's inquiries were accurate, likely costing the rest of the troll's coin and a good deal more. Elegantly attired waiters in smart vests and trim slacks with black bowties seated them at a white-clothed, candle-lit table on the second floor of the massive, high-ceilinged chamber. They were right next to the railing where they had an unrestricted view of the live orchestra and the singer who was just mounting the stage, her sequined dress glimmering with every movement, sapphires dripping from her ears beneath her long brown hair and gleaming on her breast.

"This is . . ." Ambryn's voice drifted off, and his jade eyes glowed as they met Nathiel's gaze. "It's perfect," he said softly.

Even Nathiel was impressed by the versatility of the silky alto voice of the singer, classy but not boring, the orchestra making generous use of brass for a bright, glamorous accompaniment, what the humans called "big band" style music. The food was excellent, flavor and portions clearly winning out over show in priority, and as Nathiel led Ambryn down to the floor for a dance, he could sense the eagerness in Ambryn's touch, a broad, matching grin seeming to have settled permanently on his own lips.

He led the way out onto the floor, pulled Ambryn into his arms, and as the music kicked up, they moved together. He didn't know the dance, but he was practiced enough to adapt, and Ambryn seemed to know instinctively how to respond to him, graceful and complementary, countenance practically glowing.

It was like Nathiel couldn't make a wrong move. He felt invincible, everything falling into place. It was almost magical. He looked down into Ambryn's eyes, saw his own euphoric pleasure reflected there, and bent and kissed him lightly on the lips. It might have been his imagination, but he didn't think there was as much hesitancy there.

They danced several more songs, took a brief break for wine and a little rest, and the night seemed to drift by like the wind, until they were in each others' arms, the music soft and tender, a lone, sensual horn accompanying a male singer's husky song, strings lilting in the background. Ambryn's head rested against Nathiel's chest as they turned slowly, the night elf's big hands on his hips.

He closed his eyes and let himself drift with the music, let the world fall away to nothing. When Nathiel bent to kiss him, Ambryn tilted his head back, and surrendered to the long, deep kiss, powerful and yet not urgent. It was as though his dim daydreams had suddenly come to life, only this was better, far better. He wanted this to last forever. Nathiel let up, and Ambryn could feel him breathe in.

"I don't want to take you home."

Nathiel's deep voice was a murmur in Ambryn's ear. Ambryn felt a moment of anxiety, fought it down, and remained in the night elf's embrace. He was worried, even a little afraid, because everything so far had been perfect. He didn't want to spoil it.

"Okay," he said softly.

Nathiel felt the faint, almost undetectable tremor that passed through Ambryn's body, but the human didn't tense, didn't pull away. Had it been fear, Nathiel wondered, or anticipation?

He could feel his desire like a sleeping volcano, powerful and warm, but not yet pressing. He was strangely content just to drift here in the lowered lights, music playing around them, as if the rest of the world had quietly faded away to give them privacy.

The music wound down at last, after what seemed like an all-too-brief eternity. Nathiel held Ambryn for a moment longer.

He left his date by the door, and went to go pay his tab. The bill was intercepted before he could lay his hand on it by a pair of slender fingers, and he looked into the eyes of a pale-skinned elf woman, her eyes a faded blue, her features aged. She turned her head, exhaling smoke from the long, slim brass pipe in one hand, a curl of blue tobacco smoke unfurling between her wrinkled lips.

"This one's on the house." Her gaze lingered on him, and if she was at all affected by the faint hostility in his stare, she didn't show it.

"Yes ma'am." The tuxedo'ed matre'd gave Nathiel the same impersonal smile he'd given the other patrons. "Have a good night sir. Please come and end enjoy our hospitality again."

Ambryn gave him a curious look, but Nathiel just smiled at him, even as he privately wondered what that had been all about.

He paid the carriage driver for another hour of his time, told him to drive slow, and they rode around the Canticle Quarter for another half hour.

"I had a wonderful time," Ambryn said softly as he leaned against Nathiel, completely relaxed, not even a little afraid in the night elf's embrace. "It was . . . better than I'd ever dreamed. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Nathiel's voice was warm. He let the tip of his finger trail down the edge of one pale cheek. "I had a great time – a really _great _time." In truth he was a little surprised by how much he'd enjoyed it. He hadn't lied when he said he didn't want to take Ambryn home though. Something told him this wouldn't be like other nights. That when they came together, it would be something genuinely remarkable, memorable, special.

In a way, it was that strange feeling that made him decide to continue to wait until Ambryn was truly ready. After a perfect night, he didn't want to spoil it, wake up beside Ambryn only to discover he'd made their relationship something cheap and tawdry. He _wanted_ it to be special, he realized.

So he gave the carriage driver new directions and they left the Canticle Quarter behind, headed for Ambryn's apartment building.

Nathiel didn't wait for Ambryn to step down, just pulled the human mage against him and set him gently on the ground, holding him for a long minute before bending his head and kissing him once more, relishing the way Ambryn opened trustingly to him, unafraid.

No, he thought as he pulled back, he didn't want to spoil this.

The lobby was empty now except for the lone security guard, dressed in a brown uniform, a wand at his belt.

It took another full twenty minutes to say goodnight at Ambryn's door on the fourth floor. Nathiel couldn't manage to let go of him, fingers running through those honey-spun curls, feeling them twine around his fingers, watching them spring back once more when he released them, kissing Ambryn long and slowly and tenderly. He burned for more, and yet, at the same time, it was strangely enough.

Finally, with an almighty exertion of self-control, he was able to let Ambryn go, memorizing the dreamy smile on his face, in his beautiful jade eyes. It was a lot harder than he'd been expecting.

Ambryn woke, stretched, turned his face toward the sunshine streaming in through the window, and smiled as last night played again in his mind. It had been everything he'd ever dreamed and more - his first date. He could still feel Nathiel's big hands, his strong arms, the press of his hard body, hear the beat of his heart in his chest. He could still remember the kisses and the sweet fire they kindled in his blood.

That fire pooled between his legs, and he shifted, sheets and coverlet rustling as he rolled over onto his side, a hunger awake in him that was for nothing so ordinary as food. He thought of Nathiel's mouth, his warm tongue, slipping inside . . . inside him.

His eyes drifted halfway shut, heart beating faster.

He drifted down the hallway in a cloud of half-oblivious wonder, a dreamy smile on his face, gaze lost in the distance, pausing as he passed through the decorative brass gates of the lift.

The man who stood in the center of the starkly empty lobby had his arms folded across his chest, his elaborate steel-gray robes richly embroidered with dark blue runes. His blonde hair was cut short at the sides, a tightly curled mass of it atop his head, and his brown eyes were hard.

"Papa-" Ambryn's tone was shocked.

"Explain yourself, Ambryn."

Ambryn was caught completely off his guard. Tybalt Dellani looked completely unchanged from the last time he'd seen him. His father never seemed to age, always immaculate and pressed in a way Ambryn never could be, power surrounding him like an invisible cloak of authority.

It had been two years since Ambryn had left the house, moved in here, two years since he thought he'd cut his ties. He was utterly unprepared. It was, he thought despairingly, almost as though the man had been waiting for the most opportune moment to pounce.

"I – explain . . .?"

One hand came across in a cutting gesture. "I received word only yesterday that you were _attacked!_ Three _days_ after the fact." The ambassador's face tightened. "I was the _last_ to find out! How _dare_ you embarrass me in this fashion? You should have come straight home! Why didn't you come to me immediately?"

The words came back with shocking ease.

"As I recall, _you_ evicted _me_ because I wouldn't whore myself out as a groom for Elenna Fairling." Even the viperous tone was there, waiting to rise. It was almost as though the last two years hadn't happened. "That would be right after you skipped your own wife's funeral to leave for a political conference in Stormwind Keep because you couldn't be a day late. Perhaps you've been too busy pandering and negotiating political favors to recall, but she _is_ dead."

Oh yes, it was all coming back. The vein was already pulsing in his father's temple, brown eyes turning to dark stones in their sockets, hard and unforgiving, the calm of his expression an obvious lie to anyone who knew him well. Ambryn mentally prepared himself for the battle that was about to erupt.

"As if I could forget." Tybalt Dellani's cold voice had turned to frost. "Especially when I heard that you'd been seen at Adaliria's last night."

When he actually turned his head away, it was enough to temporarily stun Ambryn. His voice was almost normal. Almost. "I'm . . . glad that you're all right."

"I'm fine." Ambryn backed down slightly, still wary, but also puzzled by his father's abrupt and uncharacteristic change of stance. "Why are you here?"

"Because I'm going to find your attacker and have his guts ripped out." Tybalt's voice remained emotionless. "And also because . . . the event has brought to my attention a possibility that . . . I had not actually considered before." Brown eyes met Ambryn's once more. "I've begun to suspect that perhaps you . . . were in earnest." His voice had turned faintly hesitant. "Are you really not planning on coming home?"

Ambryn wanted to laugh at just how ludicrous the question was, at the idea that he could possibly have wanted to return to what had become a cold, silent house, almost a tomb really, where he and his younger sister and brother had practically become ghosts themselves. His older brother Royce had even stopped coming home. He could still remember the screaming, the fighting, the angry words almost every night for two weeks between the two of them. Who could possibly want to go back to that?

"No," he said simply, tone even, looking his father right in the eye. "I'm not."

Tybalt Dellani's brown eyes widened, and for the first time in his life that Ambryn could recall, he said nothing, had no cutting retort, no unbreachable composure invincible to any challenge. His father looked nothing so much as extremely surprised.

Ambryn shook his head and let out a small, quiet sigh. " Good day, Ambassador."

And still looking nonplussed, Tybalt Dellani walked slowly out, like a man dazed and wondering when the world had turned itself inside out.

Ambryn waited until he was gone to sit down on a bench and cry.

He started at the feel of gentle hands on his shoulders several minutes later, looked up in surprise at Nathiel, and lowered his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

Nathiel did a quick mental calculation, and pulled Ambryn into his arms. His luck from last night was evidently still with him, because the human didn't struggle in the slightest, just clung to him, crying silent tears. He held Ambryn until his shoulders stopped shaking.

"I'd like to buy you breakfast."

For a moment as Ambryn pulled back, Nathiel feared he'd made a misstep at last, but Ambryn wiped his eyes, and while the smile on his face wasn't exactly firm, it was genuine.

"I'd love that."

They walked, as much to give Ambryn time to fully regain his composure as because the breakfast place Nathiel had in mind was only a few streets away. He'd only been to the spot a couple of times previously, and never after he'd had a date the night before, so the first thing he'd done on the way over was to make sure it was still where he remembered it.

The broad windows faced the east, letting in the morning sun to cascade across the worn wooden floor and spill across the polished tabletops. There were a few souls still lingering over a late breakfast, the main crowd already come and gone. The waitress was an older woman, her graying hair pulled back with a simple leather thong, her smile friendly as she took their orders.

Ambryn was calmed now, looking almost normal. Nathiel admired the way the light caught in his hair, touched his pale cheeks and brow with warm gold, illuminated the hollows of his throat. His clothing was plainer today, just a green shirt with elbow-length sleeves, a little yellow piping at the collar, ordinary trousers. In a way it was nice to see him relaxed, dressed casually.

It was also a little bit of a relief, because Nathiel himself was only wearing a sleeveless gray shirt and dark trousers. Part of him thought he should ask what had happened back in the apartment building lobby. The rest didn't want to see that pained expression cross those lovely features again and told him to shush up and not spoil it.

Ambryn wondered if Nathiel had any idea how good he looked right now, blue hair in casual, yet attractive disarray, powerful arms bare, clothing showing off his musculature, tight shirt clinging to his broad, chiseled chest and rippling abdomen. The sight was mouthwatering, but in a way different from last night.

"I'd forgotten how pretty the city is in the morning," Nathiel said absently, not actually glancing at the view at all, gaze still locked on Ambryn, drinking in the sight of him.

"It really is lovely," Ambryn replied, gaze rising to Nathiel's handsome face, feeling his heart beat slightly faster.

The smile on Nathiel's lips widened, and he reached across the table, twining his fingers with Ambryn's.

Ж

K'dzok crouched down in the little snow hut the locals called an "igloo", and listened to the sizzle of gnoll flesh cooking over the fire, punctuated by the occasional pop as fat plopped into the flames that burned on nothing.

Truthfully he was slightly surprised that the structure didn't melt right on top of them, but the frigid temperatures outside likely had something to do with that.

The fire itself was courtesy of Hiath. The blood elf mage had his arms folded, huddled into his thick robes, his eerie, green-glowing eyes staring fixedly into the flames. He'd been closemouthed and withdrawn even for one of his kind since his twin had been forcefully ejected from the Steel Sheen for desertion.

Never mind that Loiath likely would have died and never found Mraugon and the others to warn them of what was transpiring had he stayed to fight. Rules were rules, and Mraugon was as unyielding in the orders he gave as those he received. It was a trait that hadn't bothered K'dzok overmuch in the years he'd known the big tauren up until now. It was starting to grate though.

It was the reason he was out here in the middle of a howling blizzard, waiting on the ribs of one of the gnolls they'd dismembered to cook, cramped into this strange little snow-hut, his butt cold, his stomach and his wallet empty.

It was why he was sharing the fire with a skinny, sullen elf he didn't fancy in the slightest and a pair of orcs who just didn't have any appeal after the soft, pretty faces of humans.

He remembered one soft, pretty face in particular, jade eyes beneath curls like spun honey, wide and bright, and his pants were suddenly tighter, the air not quite as frigid. He remembered burning, fiery throbbing, ebbing away beneath cool, sweet numbness.

Logically he knew the two were unrelated. The human he'd had his arm broken over certainly wouldn't have come out into the forest, drank the blood and eaten the liver, kidneys, and heart of another human, and slaughtered three goblin quacks. And yet, there was something in that strange surcease of pain that reminded him of the way the ice had dulled the fire in his shoulder after the night elf had nearly ripped it whole from his socket, a strange, twisted sort of mercy in the act.

"So how many of these dog-fellas we gonna have to kill and eat before the chief'll show himself?"

Khaul wasn't the brightest of orcs, but he had a mean hunter's cunning, a keen instinct for fighting, and a sadistic twist that expressed itself in ways that could be both gruesome and effective. He was the one who'd matter-of-factly split the gnoll's chest with the axe at his hip, broken off the ribs, and brought them in out of the howling storm to cook.

They didn't smell all that good, but it was better than no food, and it would be hot.

"If those two scrawny sprats we let live managed to get to shelter before the blizzard hit, I'd say he'll come screaming out of his hole the minute it lets up and they give him the news," K'dzok replied thoughtfully. "Especially once they tell him who showed up."

Gridis chuckled darkly. The orc warrior had been with K'dzok the last time the troll had been on Clan Bloodtooth's tribal lands. He'd been the one who pulled back the head of the chieftain's pregnant wife so K'dzok could shove his blade into her throat, the choking death rattle echoing down the hillside. K'dzok's axe had bitten into her squirming belly next, and Gridis had kicked her corpse into a roll down the slope so her mate could watch his litter die in front of him.

The gnolls had gone absolutely wild, and the guild had used that to their advantage, cutting down gnoll warriors so maddened with bloodlust they could barely see what was in front of them. In the end, the gnolls had been routed, driven back into their steadily-diminishing tribal lands.

If there was one thing that K'dzok was absolutely sure the chieftain would remember, it would be him. He would have smirked, except that that was precisely the reason the Steel Sheen had ordered him here. The horde commanders had decreed that the Bloodtooth clan was to be completely wiped out. Neither K'dzok nor the Steel Sheen cared why. All that mattered was that they were getting paid.

Khaul tested the meat with his knife, carved off a small piece, chewed, and then pulled the whole rack of ribs off the fire and started cutting them up. To K'dzok's surprise, Hiath ate too when the ribs were portioned out, the blood elf showing as little concern for the substance of their meal as his orc compatriots.

Two hours later the sky cleared and they dug themselves out. The storm had blown over, heading southwest towards the bay, carrying its burden of snow with it. K'dzok cast a wary eye out over the white-cloaked hills, dotted here and there with low, twisted pines, keeping watch for a lookout who might have followed on the blizzard's heels.

"Make sure we leave some good tracks boys," he called to the others.

Technically Gridis was in charge, but he didn't seem to have any more problem deferring to K'dzok's leadership now than when K'dzok was ranked his superior.

Khaul grabbed the carcass of one of the smaller gnolls and started dragging it along behind him as they headed back in the direction of the Steel Sheen camp.

"Want them to be able to smell it cooking," he explained as K'dzok glanced at it.

K'dzok grinned.

Predictably enough, the gnolls attacked at night, after midnight. They charged the seemingly undefended and unwary camp. Steel Sheen warriors emerged fully armored from the tents and trotted over the hills they'd been hiding behind to cut off the escape.

Howls went up from the gnolls as they realized they'd been tricked and their enemy had been waiting for them. They broke ranks, charged, and K'dzok emerged from his hiding place and let out a howl of his own, standing next to an artfully placed bonfire that clearly illuminated him for the benefit of one member of the Bloodtooth clan in particular.

Chief Rugru let out a booming, wailing cry from the midst of his warriors, his painted headdress rattling as he picked up speed, and K'dzok grinned and watched him come, hefting his axe.

Warriors were forming up in orderly lines, shields ready, preparing to meet the charge. The shamans posted on the hill behind the camp let loose with a volley of thunderbolts, peppering the onrushing gnolls. K'dzok waited.

Rugru did not disappoint, strength every bit as fierce as K'dzok remembered, shrugging off axe and sword blows, ignoring spears, decapitating a pair of unlucky orcs with one swing, gutting a troll with one clawed hand, breaking through the line, his warriors fighting to widen the breach their enraged eight foot tall leader had just made.

K'dzok paid them no mind. The Steel Sheen was disciplined. The grunts would deal with the rabble. He would, he thought idly as Rugru bared his fangs, take one of those massive canines as a trophy.

Then the gnoll chieftain was on top of him and K'dzok sidestepped an axe blow that would have split him cleanly from crown to crotch, bringing his own axe around.

Rugru blocked with the back of one massive paw, blood flying, and swung his weapon once more.

K'dzok ducked beneath the blow, almost lost a knee to a clawed foot he narrowly avoided by twisting onto his other knee, and danced out of the way of the paw he'd just wounded, more blood pattering as it hit his skin.

Rugru didn't give him a moment's respite, continuing to press him, swinging his axe as lightly as a feather despite his multiple wounds. If the deep gouge K'dzok's axe had taken out of his paw was hurting him, it didn't show.

K'dzok pivoted out of the way of another downward chop and dove into a roll, axe swinging, but the gnoll was light on his feet, moving quickly, the blade glancing off of a shin as hard as granite instead of severing a hamstring, the vibration of the contact making K'dzok's hand sting, and he felt a claw tear across his scalp.

He came to his feet out of the roll and whirled.

Rugru was grinning broadly. He held up the tuft of bloodied red hair caught between his claws.

K'dzok's eyes narrowed. He charged, and Rugru moved to meet him.

K'dzok brought his axe across, swinging as hard as he could, anticipating that the gnoll would once again use it to block, hoping to knock it out of the way so he could get in close and use his axe on the chieftain's belly before the gnoll's axe came down on top of him.

His arm vibrated.

It took K'dzok a full half a second to realize that the explosion of blood wasn't a clawed foot ripping out his abdomen as he'd half-feared, that it wasn't even his own blood.

Rugru reared back with a squealing, whistling shriek, blood pumping from the stump of his arm, massive paw lying in a pool of blood two feet away. K'dzok's axe tore across his belly before he'd even really thought about it, slashed across it again, the third strike cutting through the organs already spilling out.

The gnoll chieftain tumbled back, shuddering.

A quick blow to the head would have ended the agony and sent Rugru on to whatever afterlife the dog-people believed in. K'dzok lowered his axe, stood back, and listened to the gnoll chieftain die a slow, gurgling, mewling death. When the death rattle was finished, he adjusted his grip on his axe, and started cutting out both of Rugru's massive top canines.

He'd have them made into matching daggers.

The gnolls were fighting furiously below, outnumbered, outclassed, surrounded, with nothing but their rage to aid them. K'dzok smiled, giving his axe a practice swing, Rugru's teeth tucked into his belt, and trotted down to join the fun.

It was pitifully easy to track down the females and the young. They'd hidden themselves in a cave in the heart of what had been their tribal territory. When K'dzok and the rest of the Steel Sheen emerged an hour later, the cave was as still and dead as the open grave it had become.

He caught sight of Mraugon, waiting with the rest of those who'd remained above, but the tauren didn't acknowledge him in the slightest, any more than he would have any other green recruit. A definite desire for vengeance and probably personal humiliation was starting to form in the back of K'dzok's mind.

He clapped another troll on the shoulder, laughed about the way the gnolls had cowered and whimpered as they were slaughtered, but his eyes went back to the tauren standing aloof above them, and he thought of of those dark animal eyes glazed over in death, head stuffed and mounted on a wall somewhere, tongue protruding slightly like a dumb animal's. His grin widened.

Ж

"So," Nabniath said conversationally as she lay atop the gnoll chieftain's corpse, looking into his glazed eyes, her heels up in the air, ankles crossed. "He has overcome you. He is a strong warrior then I think. You don't look like an easy foe to conquer." She cocked her head, rested her chin in the palm of one hand, her elbow supported on his still, stiff, blood-matted chest. "What was it like to dance with him? I would think he would be graceful. He would have to be quick, or you would have cut him in half. Yes, quick, and I think intelligent, because gnolls are quick, though not intelligent. No, no clever tricks or armor for gnolls."

She rolled over onto her back, crossing her arms behind her head. "Did you wound him perhaps? Might he have made a misstep, and you shed some of his blood as well? Do you think it's still there in the snow?"

Abruptly she turned to look into those glassy, dead, frozen eyes once more, expression alight with hunger, gaze fixing on the hacked holes where his canines had been. "Did you . . . taste him, gnoll?" Nabniath pursed her lips. "Did you taste the sweet tang of his blood?" she asked more quietly. Her eyes wandered over the gnoll's other teeth. There was blood in the back of his throat, but it was mixed with bile and likely his own, choked up when his innards were shredded. There didn't seem to be much of it on his forward teeth. Her eyes went once more to the place where the two canines were missing. "Did he take them as trophies . . . or in vengeance?" she asked.

She lingered there for a long moment, utterly still, not a single breath disturbing the air, like a cold, pale, waxen statue, and then she reached in and ripped out his tongue, vanishing a moment later in a shimmer of magic, leaving the corpse of the gnoll chieftain atop the frigid carcasses of his clan.

Ж

Annatta studied the book intently. It had to be perfect. There could be no errors, not a single misstep, every measurement precise. Neither she or her people could afford a mistake. For all their sakes, for the sake of the future of the Quel'dorei, she had to succeed.

She set down the cookbook, drew in a deep, cleansing breath, let it out again, and began measuring flour. She considered the filled measuring cup a moment later, and was immediately confronted with a quandary. Should she pack it in? Was it meant to be so light and fluffy? She was immediately glad that she was taking the time to do a test run now to work out all the variables and weed out any imperfections in the recipe that might lead to disaster.

She was anything but a practiced cook, but if there was one thing she knew for certain about humans, it was that they delighted in food, and it was a human she needed to closely befriend. Therefore, since a sexual relationship wasn't possible, she would have to make use of other means to accomplish her objective, and from what she understood the only other way to a human male's heart besides sex was food.

In human society, a thing particularly remarked upon and almost inevitably seen at all events of significance, including weddings, birthdays, awards ceremonies, and anniversaries, was cake. Annatta had given brief thought to pie-making but the process looked too complex for her to even begin, so for now, it would be cake, and perhaps after she had mastered cake she would move on to cookies.

Yellow cake, the cookbook assured her, was not difficult to make and was "scrumptious" to the palate. It would be an excellent place to start.

An hour later she looked at the slightly brown surface of the cake, which was supposed to be yellow, her lower lip caught between her teeth, trying to decide if it was what a human cake was supposed to look like. She dithered for a moment and then got out a knife and cut off a corner, bringing it hesitantly to her mouth, blowing on it to cool it.

The taste was light and somewhat sweet, not bad she supposed, but not exactly what she would have termed scrumptious. She finished chewing and studied the cake once more. Wasn't there supposed to be something else? All the human cakes she'd seen before had had a sweet, sugary sort of moist crust coating them. Perhaps she should have baked the cake with that on top. Perhaps it would have turned out yellow then instead of brown.

She went back to the cookbook, but it made no mention of any such coating in the instructions or the list of ingredients. Then her gaze caught on the subtext in parentheses at the bottom and she swore violently. _Please see chapter twelve for frosting recipes_, it read.

She was relieved to learn that she didn't need to have applied the frosting before baking, but there were more supplies she would need to acquire before she would be able to complete the process. Annatta grimaced. She hadn't expecting this to be quite so time-consuming. Normally she'd be studying spells or rituals right now, or refreshing her memory on thaumatic principles.

She washed her hands and face, pulled her hair back into a ponytail, caught up her purse, and headed for the door.

The human grocery store wasn't far, just three blocks from where she lived, and she blinked as she emerged, unaccustomed to the direct sunlight. There were few people on the streets, most of them at work or at home, those who were mages like herself likely asleep or at study. The pimply-faced human teenager behind the counter gave her a slightly apprehensive smile and she responded with an absent one.

"I need cream, for frosting, and powdered milk and sugar," she said, and the boy got up and quickly reappeared with three canisters. Annatta blinked, studied them each in turn and her eyes went back to the boy. "Bring me a dozen more of each of those."

She was turning to leave when a thought occurred to her, and she turned, glancing over her shoulder, catching the boy's gaze once more. "I need someone to test a cake for me so I know whether or not it's scrumptious. Are you willing?"

The boy blinked. "I . . . suppose ma'am."

Annatta nodded and went out into the street, a heavy paper bag full of canisters in each arm, and headed back towards her apartment, steps determined, running over the instructions for "Mary's Simple, Perfect Frosting" once more in her mind.

It had to be perfect. It _would_ be perfect. For the sake of herself and her people, she would succeed.


	3. A Dark, Shadowy Interlude

**Author's Notes:**

Warcraft and all applicable trademarks belong to Blizzard.

Folks, I won't lie to you, this next scene is dark, has lots of blood, and it's not anything close to what I would call sex because it falls so far into the extreme BDSM & Bloodplay category. This _will_ end in the messy, violent death of one of the ("unwilling") participants. If you have a weak stomach, are squeamish, or are psychologically vulnerable or troubled, you would be well advised to, and should, please skip to the next chapter. This is part of the plot, and introduces a major character, but it's not essential for you to read it to follow the storyline.

On the other hand, if you hate orcs and are happy to see a night elf chick give 'em back what they've been giving in a lot of these fanfics, by all means, read on.

Vengeance is sweet, bitches!

* * *

A Dark, Shadowy Interlude

Gorok snuffled uneasily as he hunched in the bushes. It was dark, and he knew he was at a disadvantage in the darkness. Night elves were able to see farther at night and blend in with the shadows as easily and naturally as they breathed.

He'd been separated from the rest of his raiding party when they'd fallen upon a group of night elves and a skirmish had erupted. They'd seemed to have the upper hand, at least until massive vines erupted from the ground and started tearing orcs and trolls apart like dogs fighting over rabbit carcasses anyway. The horde fighters had broken and fled.

He shuddered, because he could still see those massive, twisting vines with heads like dragons, sharp wooden teeth gaping in their shadowy mouths, tearing through tempered steel as easily as paper, biting into the green flesh beneath. Their shaman, Votnik, had been the first to be torn apart, blood falling like rain as he was lifted screaming out of their sight.

Gorok planned to hide until morning, and then head back south, towards Mulgore.

His plans went right out of his head when he saw her.

The stars appeared from behind the clouds, just enough of their light piercing the canopy to illuminate her nude, magnificent body as she walked along the edge of the pond he'd drunk from earlier, its waters shrouded in shadow by the tree boughs that stretched out over it.

Her face was noble, countenance filled with unearthly beauty, lips full, her skin a rich purple, hair a blue as dark as the night sky. Her large, firm breasts made his mouth water, pert nipples standing in the cool air, her slim hips blooming into a soft, perfect heart-shaped bottom before slimming again into long, long, smooth legs.

Gorok was instantly hard, wiping drool from the side of his mouth. He glanced quickly around, looking for some sign of a trap, and then she bent over, and all thoughts of caution were driven out of his brain by the sight of her luscious buttocks. He was up and running towards her before he even thought about it, determined to bury his painfully throbbing cock into her hot pussy and pound her until he blew his load.

The night elf crouched at the edge of the pool, for all the world as if she couldn't hear him crashing through the brush behind her. His grin was savage.

His ankles came together and he let out a surprised grunt as the ground rose up and dealt him a stunning blow to the side of his head. He blinked up at her as she straddled his broad chest, her white, even teeth gleaming in her beautiful face, golden eyes bright, her hands pressing his wrists against the earth.

"Well, hello," she cooed in a silky voice that made his mind go hazy. He grinned stupidly at her, tried to reach for her, and realized his arms were bound fast. He turned his head, caught sight of the vines thickening around one wrist and beginning to twine down his arm, and felt a hint of misgiving pierce through the cloud of his lust.

"Did you come out here looking for me?" The soft fingers were gentle as they cupped his cheek, and she had his attention instantly once more, forgetting to be afraid.

"Yeah." he said, licking his lips, lowering his tone. "You looking for something mean and green?"

"That's _exactly_ what I'm looking for," she murmured, bending over on top of him, the soft swells of her glorious breasts brushing his face. He was so enraptured that he didn't even protest as armor and clothing were ripped from his body by more vines, didn't see the tiny dragon heads, with their wooden fangs that dented steel and pierced fabric, sheared leather, wasn't paying attention to anything at all as she sat on his chest, giving him an unrestricted view of her starlit bosom, her taut belly, her slick pussy.

She was getting off on this, he realized as she turned her beautiful face away from him, and then he let out a groan as her soft fingers closed gently on his painfully erect penis. She stroked him, turning to watch his expression as his face went slack with pleasure. She moved her hips, and he felt the lips of her clitoris pressing against his mouth, rubbing against his face.

He opened his mouth to lick her, and she lifted herself just beyond its reach. A single drop of her fell onto his tongue, and he swallowed willingly, opening his mouth for more.

He flinched as tiny spikes dug into his bound arms and legs, piercing the skin. She giggled. He looked up at her a little warily, but she just smiled seductively back at him and ran a finger over her full lips. "I like it a little bit _rough_," she whispered huskily.

Then her pussy was back over his mouth, and he pushed his tongue up into her as she rocked atop him, one of her hands at her nipples, her head flung back, her long, beautiful hair swaying with her motions.

The thorns digging into his flesh should have been his first warning. He knew for certain something was wrong when his face and his mouth started to burn and those thorny vines tightened around his legs and pushed them up and apart, spreading him wide.

He screamed into her pussy as something knobby and hard pressed against his sphincter, and then shoved inward, pulsating, throbbing. He shook as it rubbed up against his prostate, his softening cock swelling involuntarily once more, and if it was even possible, it was even harder than before. She got up off him, long enough for him to get a single scream out, turned, and shoved her clit down on his face once more, her hands closing on his penis.

He could feel the strange, knobby thing in his rectum growing, pulsing. She got up, smiling beatifically at him as her plant-servants raped him, and one hand closed around his scrotum, fingers continuing to stroke his cock.

His body quivered, tensed, cum boiling in his balls.

She ripped them off.

Gorok screamed as blood shot in darkly gleaming arcs from his penis, splattered on his face, over his hairy chest, on his belly, and then he was choking as she shoved his testicles into his mouth, down his throat. His eyes bulged.

The knobby thing in his rectum exploded, burrowing rootlets devouring him from the inside out, belly boiling a heartbeat before it erupted in a spray of roots and tissues and internal organs. The last thing he saw as his head sank back was her golden eyes, her beautiful face fixed in pleasure, the fluid from her pussy raining down on him from between her writhing fingers as she came.

Ipsis let herself tumble to the mossy earth, smiling rapturously as the orc's corpse dissolved, vines and roots receding back into the earth which closed up behind them, leaving unbroken moss and wild grass and a few flowers wavering where he'd been only heartbeats before. It had been such a long time since she'd fed with such satisfaction.

The slaughter in the clearing when the orcs had broken her seal-stone had been glorious, sating the greater part of her hunger, but she'd needed something deeper, more fulfilling. The orc was no demon, no rich fire for her and her rootlets to feed upon, to turn to sweet life, but there had been an echo of them in him, and his spirit and flesh had been delicious. Ipsis rose, and went to hunt more.


	4. Act I Scene III: Strange Reflections

**Author's Notes:**

Warcraft and all applicable trademarks belong to Blizzard.

Just the usual warnings – there will be graphic violence, male/male pairings (which heat up a little bit this chapter; I know some of you have been waiting for that) and also some implied (not terribly descriptive) hetero pairing. Thankfully almost none of it is as gruesome as the previous chapter with the exception of K'dzok, but you know to expect that from him, and that's also slightly sanitized.

* * *

Act I, Scene III

Strange Reflections

By the end of a week in Dalaran, Nathiel was normally ready to be free of the city with its rules and its constant buzz of people, sidewalks throbbing with life, roads filled with the never-ending clatter of wheels. That activity ebbed in the darkest hours of morning but never truly ceased, the city not so much sleeping at night as falling into a sort of sluggish stupor before recalling its faculties and its harried schedules beneath the dawn's light. It irritated him, started to grate on his nerves, the high, often sharp voices of humans raised in a babble like a stream that refused to be still even with Northrend's never-ending winter all about.

And yet, this time was different. Nathiel wanted to hold Ambryn once more in his arms, taste his sweet lips, plunder the trove of his mouth. He wanted to feel Ambryn's soft skin beneath his fingers, see those jade eyes go hazy with pleasure.

He wanted to take forty-five minutes to say goodnight all over again, sit on Ambryn's couch again, feel hands press on his thighs as Ambryn levered himself up to meet his kiss, with no idea of how close he was to getting pulled into Nathiel's lap.

He wanted to hear the soft sigh escape Ambryn's lips as his mouth traced the human's jugular.

"Hey, Nath."

Nathiel blinked, shaken out of the memory. Reiyad was looking at him, concern clear in the other night elf's silver eyes. The hunter had his bow across his saddle, arrows in a quiver at his hip, knives strapped to his thighs, his long azure hair drifting in the cold breeze.

"_You alright?_" he asked, switching to Darnassian. "_You've been awfully quiet_."

Nathiel shook his head. He needed to focus. "_Thinking about a sweet piece of ass_," he replied with a grin, deliberately crude. And sweet, full lips, and eyes like an endless sea of forest, and beautiful pale skin. A baritone voice that was a touch on the high side for the range but still pleasingly low, not a childish tenor, husky with warmth. And the ass in question . . . he didn't even have words for that perfect rump, but his imagination was more than full of prospective activities involving it.

Reiyad grinned broadly and lowered his voice. "_I know a place near the Silver Enclave, does business exclusively with Kal'Dorei and humans. It's a little pricey, but they've got both menus._"

Nathiel shook his head, this time with his expression distasteful. "_I see no reason to start paying for it when I can get a few drinks at Shysters and then take them home_,_"_ he said flatly.

Reiyad shrugged, knowing Nathiel well enough not to take it personally. "_It's just a little less personal that way is all._"

"_I appreciate the thought, but I've marked my prey. It's going to be a good hunt_." Nathiel flashed Reiyad another grin.

Reiyad's eyebrows rose slightly. _"Anyone_ _I know_?"

Nathiel shook his head.

"Reiyad! Take a look at this spoor!" The shout came from the head of the small column. Kuma gestured, the draenei shaman's expression indicating she thought it likely more dangerous than deer sign.

Nathiel unlimbered his spear as Reiyad heeled his sabre mount past the carriage carrying their cargo, glancing around alertly. There were a pair of human knights at the back of the carriage, but they were both young, and both clearly junior in rank, obviously new to their spurs. They'd fight if it came to trouble, but whether they'd be any good at it was another question entirely.

Likely that was why the girl's father had hired Vir Aegeae to get her to Valgarde in the Howling Fjord in the first place. Nathiel didn't ask why the services of a mage to open a gate hadn't been obtained instead. It wasn't his business to ask.

The carriage had come to a halt. The hairs prickled on the back of Nathiel's neck. He turned his sabre mount, keeping his back to the carriage.

"Reiyad says it's worgs." Bandrin Coalshield's long, thickly braided black beard flowed from beneath his helmet, shining in the sun as he approached, dark eyes hidden behind his visor. His musket was slung across his back, his massive hammer at his hip, broad shield in his other hand. "Maybe two hours old. We may not have anything to worry about."

Nathiel's mouth tightened. "No sign of Vrykul tracks?"

"Not that he said." The black-bearded dwarf brought his riding ram's head around. "Kuma has him helping her keep an eye out for any more trail sign though."

With any luck, Kuma was just being cautious rather than prescient. Nathiel swept the trees around them with one more searching glance, and turned his mount to follow the carriage as it rocked back into motion. A few more days and they'd be through the Grizzly Hills and into the Howling Fjord, closer to Valgarde and the safe deposit of their cargo. He didn't relish a fight with the half-giant vrykul, especially with the carriage to guard. It'd make nothing so much as a splendid target for one of their massive axes.

They didn't encounter anything that afternoon, making camp shortly after dusk in a stand of tall pines. Nathiel was grooming his sabre mount when he felt eyes on him and glanced up.

Their cargo was a dark-haired, slim little slip of a thing, curves feminine but not overly generous, body petite. She met his gaze boldly, standing beside the fire, her cloak flipped back over one shoulder, revealing the wine-red dress that hugged her body. Nathiel returned to his task. If she was looking for a little extra-species excitement, she'd have better luck with Reiyad, or even Bandrin.

He was laying out his bedroll when he felt her petite hands on his back, sliding up to his shoulders.

"Such broad shoulders," she murmured. "So big. I bet you're amazing in the art of love."

If Nathiel was desperate and he'd been without sex for two months, and didn't look to be getting any more for another two, he might have considered it. As it was, there was only one human he really wanted to fuck at the moment, and this bitch was pissing him off by reminding him that he still had yet to get him in the sack.

"Fourteen and a half inches," he said honestly. He was big even among night elves, both in stature and in the size of his cock. He straightened, turning to face her. "Unfortunately for your cunt, all of it's going in someone else."

Her eyes widened, and then her lips tightened, her expression easy for him to read even in the darkness thanks to the keen vision of his people. She folded her arms. "Your other night elf friend?" Her tone wasn't silky or seductive or even moderately quiet now. She was trying to either shame him, or piss him off enough that he'd prove his manhood to her by plowing her. It pissed him off alright, but he'd didn't think she'd get off on him strangling her slender neck with one hand while he beat her face in with his clenched fist unless she was even kinkier than he suspected.

"Nah, he's got a butt like a rock," he said bluntly. "I like a little bit of cushion on the ass I'm fucking. You might ask him if he's interested. He'd probably have no problem pounding you."

"Maybe I will," she snapped.

Nathiel nodded and turned back to his blankets. He could sense her still standing behind him, not moving, probably waiting for him to turn around and change his mind. Things obviously hadn't gone the way she wanted.

"How did you put up with that last night?" Kuma asked the next morning over breakfast. The draenei shaman's luminously pale ice-blue face was fixed in a scowl, her copper-brown hair pulled back in a tail by a gray ribbon.

"I didn't think the guild would approve of me popping her in the mouth with my fist just for coming onto me," he said with a shrug.

"I was referring to the screaming while Reiyad was giving her the rogering she was after," she corrected sourly. "I had to get up and tell her to shut up or I'd have him do it."

"Definitely not one of our better-behaved clients," Nathiel acknowledged. He shrugged. "I just ignored it." He'd been too busy imagining kissing full lips until they were swollen with it, running his hands over the creamy, pillowy globes of Ambryn's bottom, dreaming of that divide between them, tight heat and soft skin and . . . he realized he was getting hard just thinking about it, the evidence of his thoughts a long, broad slab along his thigh beneath his suddenly-tight trousers.

Kuma's eyebrows were raised. "Wow, I don't think I've ever seen you this head-over-heels for anyone Nath."

Nathiel almost bit down on the next words out of his mouth, because they felt strange, almost somehow pompous, and yet, at the same time, they felt indefinably _right_. He looked right into Kuma's green eyes, chewed on the phrase a moment longer, and then let it out, suddenly curious to see her reaction.

"I don't think I ever have been," he admitted quietly.

He'd known Kuma for a fairly long time now, three years, and it was far from their first escort mission together. She knew his appetites, knew he never kept a steady lover for any length of time, moving from partner to partner. He waited to see incredulity in her expression, or amused skepticism, or even condescension.

But Kuma's smile wasn't any of those things. It was warm, and perhaps even strangely relieved, almost a motherly look.

"I'm glad for you," she whispered, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Really glad."

"She'd scream and then look at you," Reiyad muttered grouchily as they rode behind the carriage forty minutes later. "I finally just rolled her onto her belly and let her lay there and stare all she wanted. Definitely not good sex."

Nathiel just shrugged. "Bad sex is still sex."

"True," Reiyad admitted easily. His silver eyes flared wickedly. "_If she comes back tonight I'm going to see if I can get her to let me do her in the ass,_" he added in Darnassian. He winked at Nathiel. "_For you, good buddy_."

"_Kuma would laugh her head off._" Nathiel smirked. "_I say go for it. You can always kick her out of your blankets if she won't."_

_"That might be almost as satisfying._" Reiyad looked thoughtful for a moment, eyes unfocusing slightly, clearly imagining the scene. His gaze flicked back to Nathiel, and he leaned over slightly, gesturing conspiratorially. _"So who is it?"_

Nathiel blinked, not because he didn't know what Reiyad was referring to, but because it was unlike the other night elf to be so persistent about something like who Nathiel was seeing, sometimes even open proclaiming his desire to remain wholly ignorant, especially where the details were concerned. It was enough to make Nathiel wonder if the other elf saw the same thing Kuma had, wonder just how apparent his feelings for Ambryn actually were. The thought was very mildly unsettling.

"_You haven't met him."_ Nathiel debated revealing any more, and then added "_He's not affiliated with the guild_."

Reiyad's eyebrows rose at that, but he was apparently content with what he'd been given for the moment, because he didn't inquire further.

They came across the site of a battle that afternoon. Trees were shattered, the earth riven in places, wintry grass and cold dirt thick with blood. It was plain to see from the way the grass was flattened and in some places torn up that something massive had been dragged away, and it had been bleeding heavily.

"Magnataur," Reiyad said decisively after he'd examined the battlefield. "The Vrykul surrounded it, probably used those massive javelins of theirs." He pursed his lips. "It didn't go down without a hell of a fight though. Some of the giants didn't leave on their feet." His gaze followed the blood-scored drag marks. "We may want to bear a bit further south."

Kuma shook her head. "We can't leave the road with the carriage."

Reiyad snorted through his nose, a cloud of steam wisping away on the air. "Then we'd best not move too fast. I've got no desire to catch up with this kind of hunting party."

They slowed their pace after that, Reiyad scouting ahead. They might arrive a day late, but better a longer journey than a run-in with a large, hostile force. Nathiel didn't once sense the girl's eyes on him when they stopped at camp that night. Perhaps she'd given up and settled for Reiyad. The thought wasn't enough to make him smile, but it definitely lessened his prickling sense of irritation, and he no longer felt the urge to break her pert nose.

The pained, muffled grunts and not-quite-squelched yelps coming from Reiyad's blankets during his watch _did_ bring a smirk to Nathiel's face though, confirmation that the other night elf had gone ahead with his plan. Aside from the uncomfortable noises their cargo made, the night passed in relative quiet. The only ones not smiling the next morning were the two human knights, neither of whom met their charge's gaze as she crept back into the carriage with a noticeable limp, and of course, the girl herself.

For his part, Reiyad had a big, satisfied grin on his face, whistling cheerfully as he helped break camp. They mounted up, and he leaned sideways at a precarious angle from his sabre mount next to Kuma where she sat her elekk. They moved out to the sound of her loud, bell-like laughter.

The wendigo attacked the next morning, only a day from the Howling Fjord.

Their first warning was the tremors, and then it was topping the crest of the hill to the left of road, moving quickly and silently but for the huffs of its breaths as it swung towards them, rocking along on its arms towards the carriage with deceptive speed.

Nathiel set his teeth and moved his mount to intercept, spear and shield ready. Musket shots rang out, and the wendigo hardly blinked as blood spattered from one shoulder and a bullet ricocheted off a long, curling horn, not slowing. Bandrin slung his rifle once more across his back and grabbed his hammer, booting his ram into a gallop.

Nathiel knew the strategy, because they'd done it a hundred times before. He'd hold the wendigo and Bandrin would hit it from the side. Ordinarily Reiyad would be placing arrows with deadly precision, but he was too far forward.

Kuma wasn't idle. Nathiel could hear the sound of her chants as she held the leather cords from which her totems were suspended high in her fists, charms of wood and bone rattling without help from any wind as the spirits answered her call.

Nathiel's eyes widened as the wendigo abruptly dug in its feet, stumpy, powerful legs bunching, and leapt. It was going to hit the carriage and the girl would be shattered along with it. There was no way to get her out of it and out of the way in time.

Lightning blasted out of the clear sky, smashing the wendigo in the chest with enough force to throw it backward, fur aflame. Nathiel didn't hesitate for a heartbeat, his mount knowing his mind well enough that it was already responding, charging the wendigo. The beast was rising to its feet already, shaking off the muzziness Kuma's spell had wrought.

It retained its presence of mind enough to see Nathiel coming, lashing straight out with one powerful arm. Nathiel's sabre mount dodged, and he felt the air rush by his face in the wake of a massive fist which probably would have broken all of his ribs at once if it'd hit. His spear found the wendigo's throat, dug in deep beneath the hard-boned chin, and the beast let out a gurgling cough, staggering back. Somehow it still found the strength to bring its arm around, and Nathiel yanked at his animal's harness as he twisted in the saddle, rolling sideways, toppling both himself and the sabre flat onto one side, a huge fist whistling just above their heads.

Long, dark arrows thudded solidly into the wendigo's face, bare heartbeats apart, and it staggered back, giving Nathiel and his mount time to scramble out of reach.

Nathiel drew the three-bladed glaive he always kept strapped to his back in unfriendly places, but the wendigo was on its last legs, reaching up to pull out the spear with a trembling arm. It collapsed to one knee, frenzied gaze fixed on Nathiel, blood and pink saliva streaming from its slavering jaws, left eye a ruin, one of Reiyad's arrows protruding from the butchered orb. The beast ripped out Nathiel's spear, flung it away, and the light in its other eye went out as it toppled to the ground, the impact enough to send tremors through the ground under his feet.

Nathiel turned his head, shot a glower at the cursed carriage that had nearly cost the girl her life, and met her dark eyes, her face deathly pale, small fists covering her mouth. She was standing on the step, the door open, and she flinched visibly at the sight of him, liberally covered in wendigo blood and probably a little dirt and grass too.

He turned away, and tried not to feel the faintest hint of guilt, because he was pretty sure he'd just frightened the daylights out of her.

"Y'alright?" Bandrin asked, sliding his hammer back into its loop at his belt.

"Fine," Nathiel replied, turning and scratching his sabre mount under the chin, getting an appreciative purr. "Just fine."

They left the singed carcass for scavengers.

Evening of the following day found them at the gates of Valgarde. The girl hadn't left the carriage even once that Nathiel had seen since the encounter with the wendigo, which was just as well in his opinion. They parted company with her and her knightly protectors, and made their way to a tavern by the name of the Lively Wench.

It was as low-brow as its name suggested, the tables and the alcohol both rough and raw at the edges, the waitresses a mixture of gnomes, humans, and even a pair of dwarven lasses. Nathiel tipped a passed-out human out of his chair, leaving him sprawled on the floor, and they claimed the table for themselves. He'd scarcely sat down when a light hand came down on his shoulder and a moment later there was a familiar bottom in his lap.

Belauq's medium-length green hair was still a mass of waves as always, the night elf druid's sideburns long enough to extend just past his ears, curving to sharp points, golden eyes bright. His dusk-colored shirt hung open, baring his slim, smooth chest and belly, the loose black velvet slacks on his legs doing nothing to hide the muscle tone. His lips were curved in a teasing smile, the expression on his pale blue face warm.

"Well hello, handsome," he said softly. "I'd heard you were coming back this way."

The words came back to Nathiel instantly. "If it isn't beauty and the beast," he replied easily. "How have you been Belauq?"

"Oh you know." Belauq shrugged absently. "Doing the rounds, keeping the Vrykul and the Horde respectful. Waiting around for a handsome kal'dorei to come around and show me a good time." He ran his fingers lightly over Nathiel's short hair. "The latter is more time-consuming than one might expect." The curve of his mouth deepened. "My patience seems to have paid off though. A _particularly_ handsome specimen has just wandered right into my territory."

Nathiel's smile dimmed. He didn't reach for the other night elf. "I'm actually seeing someone at the moment," he said quietly.

Belauq didn't get up, but his lips instantly reversed themselves into a frown. "Nathiel Highfury, I've known you for five hundred years and you've never turned me down before." He snorted and tossed his head. "Hell, I've never known you to turn down anyone who's half-decent looking." Abruptly those golden eyes widened, and Nathiel blinked as a hand closed around his junk. Belauq leaned forward. "It's not . . . _damaged_, is it?" he whispered in Nathiel's ear. "Nath, I couldn't bear the thought, you should let me-"

"Everything is in good working order," Nathiel growled back at him. The way he was reacting to Belauq's touch was ample verification of his words.

Belauq was silent for a moment, apparently at a loss. He didn't let go however, stroking his hand over the quickly growing bulge along Nathiel's thigh.

"Why don't we go upstairs, and you can tell me what's bothering you," the druid murmured. "I haven't had you in my mouth in such a long time, and I still remember the way you taste."

Nathiel's cock was a thick iron bar along his leg, jaw tightening as Belauq's tongue laved the side of his neck, teeth closing gently on his ear, tugging tenderly. His nimble fingers continued to stroke. It had been over a month now since Nathiel had last tasted that sweet sexual release, felt himself empty out into his partner. It had been an even longer time since he'd slept with a warm body in his arms, held his lover close.

Belauq's mouth closed on his. He was straddling Nathiel's hips now, grinding pleasurably against him.

Nathiel let him, just watching the other night elf's expression, not responding in the slightest.

Belauq pulled back after a moment, expression confused, and a little frustrated.

"Why?" he whispered harshly.

The words were out of Nathiel's mouth before he thought better of them, and a heartbeat later he was wishing he could call them back, because the hurt in those golden eyes was a jab in his own heart.

"He's special."

Belauq kissed him full and hard and deep, and Nathiel could sense the anger in the kiss, turning it to bitter fire in his mouth. His temper began to boil as those hips gyrated over his crotch, motions slow and hard. He put his hands on Belauq's hips, but the druid only clung to him.

Nathiel stood up, and shoved Belauq off of him and onto the table, chest heaving, embarrassed and furious and frustrated. Kuma and Bandrin and Reiyad all looked up, startled.

Belauq didn't say a word. He got up slowly, and stalked away into the crowd. The sound of conversation gradually returned.

"Nath."

Nathiel's blazing eyes went to Kuma, his chest still heaving, ready for an argument, but she just pointed, expressionless.

"Your fly."

Nathiel glanced down, and saw that Belauq had left his fly mostly undone, a thick patch of night-blue hair and the top of his penis clearly visible, and hurriedly did himself back up.

"Thanks," he muttered as he sat back down and waited for his erection to go away. When the beer finally came he took a long, healthy swig that barely cooled him in the slightest.

Mostly drunk by the time he got into bed (with help from Reiyad), Nathiel sprawled out on his stomach and dreamed of jade eyes like windows onto the forest above full lips curved in a sweet smile, just waiting to be kissed . . .

Ж

K'dzok was bone-tired. His skull throbbed, and his right arm ached, the flesh of his shoulder and upper arm hot to the touch. Snow hissed on contact with the inflamed flesh, and he almost imagined he could see something moving rhythmically under the skin.

The Storm Peaks were anyone's worst nightmare, and K'dzok couldn't for the life of him imagine what might have drawn his target here to this frigid, mountainous wasteland full of giants, monsters, and blinding ice so bright it could burn out your eyes without dark goggles.

He knew why they'd sent him of course. He still remembered golden eyes like amber, hard and cold as the ice that surrounded him now, full of rage. He remembered the human's sun-tanned face, his thick brown hair in a multitude of braids knotted at the back of his head. He remembered how sweet it had felt to rape him again and again, to see him curse and try to bite through his gag, wrists wet with blood as he tried to free them from the tight leather cords that bound them behind his back, his expression full of berserk animal fury as K'dzok raped his son, his only progeny, in front of him.

The human mage had been angry, so deliciously angry, hate bleeding out of every pore, and then the light in those amber eyes had gone out as K'dzok's teeth closed on the boy's neck, and he'd jerked his head, soft flesh carved deep by bronze-capped tusks as he came, the shivering body in his arms going still after a few moments.

Hot, slick blood still all over his powerful, nude body, K'dzok had gone back to raping Heironymus Goldpalm, and delighted in the sick, horrified, broken sounds the human had made.

No one was quite sure how he'd escaped from the camp two nights later, but they'd found the bloody cords and the corpse of the orc he'd strangled with them in the morning, no sign of the human mage anywhere.

Four months ago, he'd been sighted for the first time in years, leading a band of steel-eyed human killers mounted on gryphons. They didn't call him Goldpalm anymore. They called him Skinslayer, and whispers grew of the terrible magic he wielded on behalf of the Alliance. Of course, like the best and the worst of such awestruck whispers, they didn't elaborate much on exactly what shape that magic took.

K'dzok glanced over at Hiath, and hoped the blood elf mage would be up to the challenge. In all honesty, he didn't have that much confidence in him.

The elf didn't return his gaze, wrapped deep in fur-lined robes, face barely visible in the light of the fire that lit their cave.

K'dzok went to the mouth of that cave, where new snow was already piling along with sleet, sparing a brief glance for the sheer cliff that fell away into utter darkness. He knew from climbing up in the first place that it would be a very, very long fall down. He got more snow, and packed it onto his burning shoulder.

He turned back, allowing a slight hiss to escape his lips as he walked back towards the fire. Six orcs lay huddled further back in the cave. Expendables, all of them, disciplinary liabilities – like him. He didn't feel any kinship towards them for that simple fact. To the Steel Sheen, and to him, they were the same - cannon fodder to be used up and disposed of when they couldn't be used any further.

He kicked one of them awake, and ordered him to take the watch.

He bolted awake to the sound of a scream, just in time to catch a glimpse of a massive, hulking, green-skinned figure and a robed, slender one go plummeting out of sight. Then big, sausage-like fingers were on his shoulders, wrapped around his arms, wrestling him onto his back, cursing and snarling.

He was going to kill them. He was going to . . .

The orcs didn't move, just held him down, and they stared at him with eyes that had irises of amber, as though the darkness of their natural eye-color had filled in with crystallized sap, hard and reflective in the light of Hiath's magical flame.

"It's been a very long time, K'dzok," they said together, tones cultured, voices eerie in their perfect sync. "A _very_ long time."

K'dzok's eyes narrowed. "Heironymus." He smirked. "Why play games? You want me to fuck your brains out, just show yourself. That's what this is about, isn't it? You wanted more of the mean green. Nothing else quite got your rocks off after me, did it?"

He felt the first flutter of apprehension when the possessed orcs chuckled, once again in eerie unison. He didn't allow it to show on his face.

"I was such a wretched, broken being by the time you finished with me, troll," they said together, expressions turning faintly sad. Dark smiles abruptly curved their massive mouths, the depth of intelligence in their eyes, the richness of the irony in their unnatural amber gazes looking wholly out of place. "Then I became something much worse."

"I'm supposed to care?" K'dzok barked a harsh laugh. "I didn't come all the way out here to listen to you piss and moan about the way I pounded your hole."

"No," the orcs said thoughtfully in the cultured tones of Heironymus. "No, you came to kill me for your superiors in the Steel Sheen, superiors who care nothing for you after your rather flagrant indiscretion in grand old Dalaran." They cocked their heads. "At least, you think that's why they sent you. You never even considered the thought that this might be a bargain, an exchange of . . . favors." There was another eerie multi-mouthed chuckle. "Well, let's begin shall we? I think the best place for us to start was where you yourself began."

Two of the orcs held him down. The other three reached for their belts, meaty fingers fumbling open their pants.

"You see, the best way I can think of for me to make you suffer, is for you to become me," Heironymus said as green shafts engorged with blood, swelling. "There is nothing more horrible that I can think of than becoming Skinslayer."

K'dzok's legs were wrestled into the air, hands pulling his trousers down over his hips, then his knees. He let out a roar of rage, fought with all his strength. He'd be damned if he was going to be gang-raped by a pack of orcs like some milk-skinned, thin-blooded human.

There was a hiss and then a click from his right shoulder.

Golden eyes widened, and then the orc holding down his right arm hit the cave wall with the sound of crunching bone. K'dzok's clawed fingers dug into green flesh, and the orc on his left vomited up blood. K'dzok closed his hand and pulled, sending gore and blood spattering across the cave.

"That's _very_ interesting," the three remaining orcs said, amber eyes flaring as they backed away. "What have they done to you, troll?"

"Does it matter?" K'dzok asked as he rose to his feet, flinging his blood-covered arm to one side, blood pattering against the cave wall. It was his turn to smile. "Does it hurt when they die?"

Amber eyes went absolutely flat. "Nothing hurts anymore. In some ways, that's the worst part."

K'dzok had assumed from the way that the orcs had spoken and reacted in unison that Heironymus was only capable of giving them all the same command at the same time, or at least had some difficulty in dividing his control over their actions. It quickly became apparent that that was exactly what the mage had wanted him to believe.

They moved out of the way of his swings as nimbly as dancers, graceful and smooth, far more so than they ever had been before their eyes had turned that striking shade of amber. He jabbed with his right arm, which, damn it all, was beginning to heat up again, the painful burn returning, and the orcs easily avoided every blow, as slippery as shadows.

Their fists were far more substantial, and his head would be spinning away from one blow only to feel the next smashing it in another direction, merciless strikes connecting with his belly, his ribs, his back.

Scarred green knuckles caught him along the edge of the jaw and he staggered back, clearing himself space for a heartbeat with a powerful swing of his right arm, which was beginning to hum at this point. His vision was hazy, and the fire in his shoulder was only getting hotter.

"Strange," the orcs said together, amber eyes still hooded. "I always thought I'd enjoy this more."

"What a disappointment for you." The voice was a thin rasp.

Suddenly it wasn't just K'dzok's shoulder that was unbearably hot. The very air seared his lungs, the world erupting in flame. When he could see again, breathe again, three very charred corpses lay on the floor of the cave.

Hiath's thin face was bone-white, a long scratch down one cheek. Most bizarre of all were his eyes, not faintly irridescent green anymore, but blazing with blue radiance. Blood was snaking from the corner of one eye like dark tears. He turned, and more flame erupted from his hands, thundering out into the whirling snow and sleet beyond the cave mouth, bright as the noonday sun.

K'dzok shielded his eyes. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Letting off excess magic before I explode," Hiath said after the brilliance and the shrieking roar of fire had died away at last. "I drew it off the pawn that attacked me until I almost burst before I realized that that was exactly what he was hoping for, and then it took me a little while to figure out which way was up."

"So . . . why did your eyes turn blue?"

Hiath glanced back and shrugged. "Human magic. It's the same power that once filled the Sunwell and runs through the ley lines of Azeroth. It's why the dragons of magic are blue. Before the Scourge, all of my peoples' eyes were the same color."

"Get some sleep," K'dzok ordered after a moment. It took him a moment to understand why Heironymus hadn't been able to take control of Hiath. The elf had evidently eaten the spell and then some. K'dzok absently cursed Mraugon for not sending more blood elves along with him instead of a pack of useless orcs. He waited until the snow began to accumulate in the cave mouth once more, and packed it onto his shoulder. It was going to be a long time until he could sleep.

Ж

Nabniath smiled as the magnataur carcass began to move and twitch. It wasn't sentient like her, any more than the ragged vrykul that stood around the edges of the clearing, their dead eyes watching as the colossal beast struggled upright beneath her will. Broken javelins still protruded from its dead flesh, flaps of torn skin and muscle hanging down in places.

Let the shaman throw his lightning at _this_, she thought triumphantly, smiling as tusks shone dully under the cold moonlight, moving from side to side as the animated magnataur settled once more onto its massive feet. It looked to her, waiting for orders.

"No," she murmured lovingly. "The cow-man will not stand against you. You will crush him, grind his bones, tear his pet mages to pieces. And then you will bring me my blood sacrifice, my strange and lovely troll . . . my beautiful victim." She spread her arms in exultation, her massive servant aping her motions, her will still tied to its cold, dead body. "I will bring the torturous thing called life to an end. I will free him . . ."

Nabniath stopped, became utterly still, her eyes fixing on the undead behemoth before her, widening.

"I will make him just like me," she whispered. And then she began to laugh, turning in a circle, whirling, and the earth danced with her, trees swaying, boughs shaking as the magnataur followed her motions, a puppet, an avatar of her desire.

Ж

"This is _excellent_," Ambryn said as he sat across from Annatta. "I haven't had home-made cake in practically forever, and the frosting is simply perfect."

Annatta allowed herself a satisfied smile as she sat across from Ambryn and chewed. It _was_ her best effort at yellow cake yet, and she'd done herself quite proudly. She swallowed and washed down the crumbs with a glass of sweet wine. "Thank you. I've been studying cooking lately." She made her tone deliberately off-hand. "It's become something of a hobby of mine recently." _Very recently_.

Ambryn looked suddenly pensive. Annatta tried not to let her gaze sharpen.

"Do you think you could teach me?" he asked after a moment. "Honestly, I usually eat out, and . . . well, now that I'm seeing Nathiel . . . I'd like to do something special for him."

Annatta tried not to panic. She couldn't reveal that yellow cake was as yet really the only foray that she'd made into human culinary preparations. It would look too obvious. She thought fast. Better a little bit of the truth to give the words the right ring, because if she announced she was an expert chef, it was only a matter of time before she was caught out.

She half-shrugged, willed a little bit of a blush into her features as she stalled. And then an inspiration struck her.

"Well, it's actually a little new to me, but perhaps it's something we could explore together . . ." she suggested delicately, carefully watching his expression, praying that he wouldn't draw away in disappointment.

To her surprise he blushed slightly as well, but the smile that curved his lips was genuine, jade eyes relieved, an odd mirror of exactly what she was desperately trying not to display herself.

"Actually, I'd feel a little bit better about the whole thing if it was with someone I knew was closer to my own level," he confided quietly. His smile widened. "But I think it'll be great fun."

Annatta tried to make her smile warm rather than triumphant. "Why don't we meet at my place tomorrow, decide on what we'd like to try, and then we can do the grocery shopping and come back." She made a mental note to bribe the teenager she'd been feeding cake so he wouldn't mention that he'd been her guinea pig. Really, she thought – this was even better than her original idea. She wouldn't have to think up an excuse to come see Ambryn with food on a regular basis. It couldn't have worked out better if she'd planned it so from the very beginning.

She left his apartment, and only as she turned the corner and was out of sight of his watchful gaze from the porch of the building did she allow the true smile she was feeling inside to cross her face, fierce and exultant. Her recipes, no _their_ recipes, she amended, would be truly delicious, and as she worked her way deeper into Ambryn's confidence, she would do what she could to help him grow closer to his new kal'dorei suitor as well.

She was so pleased with herself that she twirled right there in the street, a giggle escaping her lips, and smiled and winked at the guardsmen on patrol. Their presence had noticeably increased in this part of the city in the last few days, either as a public reaction to Ambryn's attack or his father's, which were practically the same thing anyway for practical purposes.

Tonight was the beginning.

* * *

**Author's Post-Script Notes:**

Alright, let's hear it – which of you sickos is a fan of K'dzok? You can remain anonymous, but I know some of you like him.

Was anyone shocked to see how Nathiel actually thinks? "ZOMG, he's not a Gary Stue!" I know, right?

Oh, and at this point, now that the plot's starting to roll (slowly) into motion and you can kind of see the shape of it, I'd like to formally invite folks to start posting reviews. (I'm surprised there hasn't been even one yet.) You can speculate on where it's going if you like, but mostly I'm looking for constructive critiques on style now that you've had a chance to get your teeth into how I work. Also, I'm kind of assuming that if you've read this far, you have a genuine interest in the story, which is why I extend that invitation now.


	5. Act I Scene IV: In the Minds of Wizards

**Author's Notes:**

Warcraft and all applicable trademarks belong to Blizzard.

This chapter is going to be just a little longer than the previous ones. It has K'dzok in it so you know to expect the usual blood/gore/indiscriminate sexual exploitation.

I know some of you are eager for more Nathiel, others for Nabniath. Sorry, they aren't in this chapter, but the next one will be extra juicy, so come back for more!

* * *

Act I, Scene IV

In The Minds Of Wizards

Ambryn shook his head as he rounded the corner of the hallway, headed back to his apartment. The more he got to know Annatta, the _stranger_ she seemed. Not in a bad way of course, but he got the distinct sense that she didn't quite get human society. Bringing an entire cake for just the two of them for example.

Still, he'd never been one to make friends easily, and he wasn't inclined to look a gift horse in the mouth. Less than a month ago he'd been, for all practical purposes, alone. It was almost enough to make him grateful to the troll that had been so insistent on having his way.

Almost.

Right about now of course, Ambryn expected the troll in question was probably enjoying an extended stay in a cell somewhere. He might get out in thirty or forty years.

Ambryn shook the thoughts away. The last thing he wanted in his mind was the memory of that horrid, pale green face with its grotesque tucks, yellowing teeth, and lascivious expression. He let out a long slow breath, and let his mind's eye gaze on an entirely different inhuman male, one who was chivalrous and sweet and _so_ incredibly sexy.

Feeling a little voyeuristic as he reentered his apartment, he gestured at the sink in the small kitchen, and water flowed from the tap, swirling through the air, sparkling and wavering into a thin sheet. Color danced across its surface, painted by his mind, and he looked upon Nathiel's handsome face. He still remembered those lips on his, remembered the way that warm tongue had delved into his mouth, turned the threads of fire in his blood to torrents, heat pooling between his legs, _there_, where he practically ached to be touched.

He wanted it, and yet, there was a tiny part of him that was still nervous at the thought of what he desired.

There was a knock on the door, his fingers curled involuntarily, and water dropped onto the hardwood floor of the kitchen. Ambryn let out a small sigh, and a wave of his hand sent it swirling back into the sink and down the drain.

He opened the door and honestly considered closing it again the moment he saw who was on the other side.

Tybalt Dellani's eyebrows rose briefly. The silence dragged out. "Are you going to invite me in, son?" he finally asked pointedly.

"I'm still thinking about it," Ambryn replied with brutal honesty.

The ambassador's brow tightened ever so slightly. "In that case, might I suggest that you invite me in so that we're not occasioning comment between your neighbors. I know how much you hate being the center of gossip."

Ambryn considered that. "Only if you leave when I tell you to, and you keep a civil tongue in my home."

"We have an agreement," Tybalt said quietly.

Ambryn stepped back, holding open the door, and closed it behind him. To his surprise, his father didn't immediately speak, blond head turning from side to side.

"It's the first time I've been here," he said after a long moment. "I would have expected you to choose something a little . . . larger."

Ambryn felt his face tightening. He didn't bother even attempting to stem the drop in temperature in his tone. "You didn't come here to examine my quarters."

Tybalt turned, face dispassionate. And yet, there was something in his eyes, something Ambryn didn't recognize.

"You may recall Sir Hector Evansley, though he hadn't yet earned his spurs when the two of you had your . . . association." Tybalt's gaze left Ambryn's and went to the windows that looked out onto the late afternoon. "His family is not of . . . particularly strategic value, but he has acquitted himself well, and his career is off to a promising start. He's in the city." He folded his hands. "I had thought of perhaps making an inquiry on your behalf if you wished to . . . resume your relationship."

"I'm seeing someone," Ambryn said bluntly.

"The night elf mercenary." Tybalt nodded after a moment. "I am aware of it."

"And you're embarrassed by _him_." Ambryn was only growing less inclined to pull any punches.

"I'm trying to be diplomatic." Tybalt's tone dropped as quickly in temperature as his son's, brown eyes flashing.

"This isn't diplomacy. This is damage control." Ambryn took a long, slow, deep breath, and let it out, closing his eyes for a moment. He opened them, saw his father start to relax. "Get out. We're not family anymore. We'll see who gets to the courts to sign the disinheritance papers first."

It was the first time in Ambryn's life that he'd ever seen his father flinch. He was experiencing a lot of firsts lately.

"Ambryn-"

"You gave me your word that you would get out. Is not Ambassador Tybalt Dellani a man of his word?" Ambryn flung the words like knives and saw them strike home, saw blood finally drawn behind those brown eyes. There wasn't any satisfaction in seeing it. Ambryn hadn't expected there would be. It was a surgical procedure, a cut that needed to be made, a limb he had to sever to save himself.

It didn't stop him from sitting down on his couch and crying until he could barely breathe after the ambassador had left.

Ж

"This is . . . a little unusual." The gnome clerk on the other side of the counter blinked.

"I see," Ambryn said politely as he signed the last of the multitude of signature lines on the paperwork he'd been given. "Thank you for your time."

"Ah, good day," the gnome said belatedly to Ambryn's turned back as he stalked out.

He'd expected to feel at least a little bit like he'd been freed, or at least turned a page in his life as he stood on the front steps of Dalaran's administrative tower the following morning and took a deep breath. The hollow ache in his chest didn't go away. He supposed it would take time.

Really, the whole act was more symbolic than anything else. If there was anything he was certain of, it was that Tybalt Dellani wouldn't have left him anything in his will. The separation was just official now.

Still, he would have thought he'd feel at least a little bit better now that it was done with.

Ж

Tybalt Dellani's brown eyes were lit by a fiery glow, its reflection dancing in their depths. He had his hands folded in front of his face, watching carefully as the thick sheaf of papers crumbled and withered, mantled in flame as it hung over his desk, growing smaller and smaller.

"It's a felony to destroy public records, Ambassador." Eanté's tone was teasing.

"Is that why you went and fetched them for me? So that I wouldn't have to go to prison alone?" Tybalt asked idly.

She sighed, her dark brown hair a cascade over one shoulder. "I honestly always thought he was the most reasonable of your children. I'd have expected him to be more . . ."

"Manageable?" Tybalt's right eyebrow rose as he looked up from the glowing ball of shrinking ashes and met her gaze. "He changed after Marianne's death. Diplomacy isn't working Eanté. I need him back."

Eanté lifted an eyebrow. "I'm not sure that's possible, Ambassador." She nodded in the direction of what little was left of the formal notification of separation she'd brought from the files of the administrative center, plucked only ten minutes after they'd been filed. "Have you considered letting him go?"

"I have." Tybalt let out a snort. "But I need him if I'm to secure my seat in the Upper Senate. House Dellani must present a unified front. It will reflect poorly on my candidacy if it appears that I cannot even manage my own household."

Eanté almost bit back the question. Her eyes flicked to the smoldering little pearl of ash that was all that was left of Ambryn's disinheritance papers, the last wisps of smoke dissipating into the air. "Forgive me Ambassador, but I think you might be taking this a bit . . . personally."

He didn't answer her.

Eanté sat on the corner of the massive scroll-top desk in the office and folded her hands in her lap, holding in a sigh. "What would you like me to do?"

"Arrange for Sir Hector to meet with Ambryn, but be subtle about it." Tybalt gestured, and the last little flaky remnants of ash vanished soundlessly. "He's our best hope at the moment. He's aware of the potential gain if his family becomes allied with my House, and that will encourage him to be vigorous in his pursuit."

Eanté nodded. "What about the night elf mercenary?"

"He needs to be removed, or at least checked." Tybalt raised his gaze to Eanté's. "If we can prosecute him and have him banished, that would be the best result. Otherwise, keep him . . . occupied. Recommend his services. Make sure he's in very high demand. He can't turn my son's head if he's not in the city to do so."

"Why not simply hire him ourselves for a lengthy mission? Say, a sea voyage? Give him something to guard, tell him it's valuable, and have him out of the city and on a boat to Stormwind. He'd be gone for at least three weeks even if he's teleported back." Eanté cocked her head.

"Because it's too obvious." Tybalt lifted his knuckles to his lips. "But if it works, I suppose it won't really matter. If you can manage it, then by all means proceed."

Ж

Annatta smiled brightly at Ambryn when he opened the door, saw his features relax into an answering grin, and held up the three cookbooks she'd brought along.

"I thought perhaps we might start with a nice soup," she said as she entered. "I think Nathiel would really feel welcomed home if homemade soup was waiting for him."

She saw Ambryn blush slightly, saw pleasure enter his eyes, and patted herself on the back. Really, it was almost too easy. A few inquires here and there had given her the idea, and she'd already taken a look through the cookbooks so she had a few recipes in mind.

Ambryn's smile widened. "Annatta, you're wonderful."

Annatta gave a little laugh as she set the cookbooks down. "Oh, I just know after a long day, especially after its been really cold, my favorite thing to do is stop and get a nice little pot of soup on the way home." She opened the first cookbook and quickly flipped through it. "I was thinking the tortilla soup, or perhaps the chicken noodle, or chicken with dumplings."

In the end they settled on chicken and noodle soup, because it was something they were both familiar with and looked to be the least complicated, drew up a list of ingredients, and Annatta tucked Ambryn's arm into hers as they walked out of the apartment building and headed towards the grocery store.

"So when is he supposed to be home?" she asked, glancing over at him.

"Five more days." Ambryn let out a small sigh, and then blushed again. "I'm really excited to see him again," he admitted quietly.

Annatta chuckled. "I'd gotten that impression." She looked up at the sky. "Actually, I envy you a little bit. It's nice to have someone to wait for."

"Are you seeing anyone?" he asked after a moment.

Annatta shrugged. "Oh, I'm waiting for the right one to come along. It's _almost_ the same." _Because I certainly don't have time to go out and look for him_, she added privately. Still, she'd known ever since she'd decided on her path that there would be many sacrifices. Love was one of them.

"He will." Ambryn smiled brilliantly at her, a shining reflection of that night when she'd seen him dancing down the hallway of Periont's Tower. "I know it."

"You give me hope," Annatta said softly, and felt a momentary twinge of guilt as she patted his arm.

"So," she said as they entered the grocery store "do you want to buy the premade noodles, or make them from scratch like the recipe says?"

"If we're going to do this, let's do it right." Ambryn grinned broadly at her.

She nodded, returning the grin. "Homemade it is."

It was a surprisingly pleasurable experience, working alongside Ambryn as they started with making the dough for the noodles, mixing in flour, water, egg whites, rolling it out thin and carefully cutting it into long strips to be baked. The noodles went into the oven, and they started on the chicken next. That part was rather messier, but they managed to successfully pluck it, aided by a water invocation Annatta used to create a suction force strong enough to pull out all the remaining feathers. Then they stuffed it, spent a goodly time rubbing in butter and spices, and set it over the fire to roast slowly with a minor air elemental to turn the spit.

"This is actually kind of fun." Ambryn was laving more butter and spices over the chicken with a brush as it turned.

Annatta smiled at him as she looked up from checking on the baking noodles in the oven and closed it once more. "And we haven't even gotten to the part where we eat it."

Ambryn drew in a deep breath through his nose. "Mmm . . . it already smells good."

It really was too bad, Annatta thought regretfully as she looked at him, relaxed and happy, a slight smile on his face. He probably would have made a good husband.

She gave herself a firm mental shake. She couldn't have him that way, and really, she was only befriending him to further her own plans anyway. She had to keep her eye on the goal. That was why she was doing this.

Still, she could at least enjoy their friendship while it lasted a small part of her reasoned. After all, she'd only be more convincing the more genuinely she played her part.

The apartment filled with the mouth-watering smell of slow-roasting chicken, and by the time it was cooked and ready to go in the soup, she literally _was_ salivating, practically ready to eat it without bothering to wait for it to be made into soup. She saw an identical look in Ambryn's eyes.

They cut up vegetables - celery, carrots, onions, leeks, tossed in spices, cut up the chicken (though _not_ eating it as the heavenly scent of it filled the kitchen was a very near thing) and poured it all into a big pot to simmer.

The noodles were finished. Annatta went back to her cookbooks. She was already ravenously hungry, and resistance was becoming difficult. She needed something light, something that would take the edge off without spoiling her dinner. She glanced at Ambryn.

"I have some spinach leaves . . . perhaps a salad?" he offered.

She raised an eyebrow, and tapped the page she'd found under dinner salads, irrationally pleased by the similar path their thoughts had taken. "With a little bit of bacon," she replied, tone satisfied.

A quickly whipped up vinaigrette, warm crispy bacon chunks, and disaster was averted, the soup pot remaining unmolested atop the stove. The salads had been small, certainly not enough to spoil the appetite, but they had been enough.

"I'd never thought of putting bacon on a salad." Ambryn set down his fork with a smile. "I'm not sure I'll ever be able to enjoy one without it now."

"Well, it certainly didn't take nearly as long to get together." Annatta smiled back at him. Her gaze went to the pot on the stove, smile turning rueful. "It was a very near thing."

"I think we might have to have just the chicken by itself at some point." Ambryn looked thoughtful. "You know, there _is_ an awful lot of soup there, and I wouldn't want to eat it all by myself. We have Circle work tomorrow."

Annatta nodded. "Agreed, but we taste it first, tonight, while it's fresh." She drew in a deep breath, just smelling it. "You know . . . I'm not sure what you have for dessert after a soup." She glanced back at her cookbooks.

Ambryn followed her gaze. "I'm sure we can find something."

Annatta relished the flavor of the noodles, the chicken, the vegetables. It was perfect. Together, the two of them had made something wonderful, not in a grand, earth-shaking way, but a small, intimate, heartwarming accomplishment, a lovely chicken and noodle soup that warmed her not just to her bones, but to her heart. She wanted more. Her eyes went to Ambryn's, feeling that suddenly and strangely now-familiar smile curve her lips, its glow redoubled in the light of his own.

Well, there would be plenty of opportunity for more, wouldn't there?

Ж

The inside of Bouldercrag's Refuge was surprisingly crowded considering the unfriendly locale in which the place sat. Of course, it was one of the the very few places one might possibly rest relatively comfortably and in less danger then elsewhere in this horrid, bitter, northern wasteland if you weren't a local. Perhaps it wasn't such a surprise, because that meant everyone else congregated there including the Earthen, mineral-bodied progenitors of the Dwarves, who'd been driven out of their own holds by the storm giants.

K'dzok scanned the other occupants of the Refuge warily, on the lookout for amber eyes. His last encounter with Heironymus had left him with a sour taste in his mouth. If not for Hiath's surprising tenacity, he would have been at the mercy of four possessed orcs, raped until he was as loose as a forty year-old five-copper orc whore in Orgrimmar. The realization did not sit well with him. He wanted to find Heironymus, not only because the Steel Sheen wished it, but because he was certain he wouldn't be safe until the human mage was dead.

It was finding Heironymus, he was quickly coming to suspect, that was going to be the difficult part. The strategy up until now had been to show up, wait for Heironymus to do the same, and then kill the human. The encounter in the cave had made it clear that wasn't going to work.

K'dzok glanced at Hiath. The blood elf wasn't exactly an ace in the hole, but he was probably K'dzok's only chance of getting this done. He looked noticeably thinner. The passage here had been hard, and the green of his eyes was dull. K'dzok left him at a table and went to go order a meal at the bar.

"Looking for a human mage," he said to the barkeep. "Very distinct eyes, like amber."

The Earthen blinked. "Heard of amber," he said slowly after a moment. "Crystallized tree sap isn't it?"

"Yeah, kind of a yellow."

K'dzok almost snarled when the dwarf-like little man shook his head.

"You need rooms for the night?"

"And meals." K'dzok jerked his thumb at their table.

The Earthen nodded amicably, either not noticing or simply unconcerned by the irritation in K'dzok's expression.

The food wasn't great, but it was edible. Hiath wolfed his meal down without hesitation, eating hungrily. K'dzok ate more slowly, trying to figure out how he was going to lure the mage out. He glanced around. His first impulse was to find another human boy and rape him, ideally while Heironymus had an eye on him, stir up a sympathetic response, and see where that got him. His eyes swept the inn's interior. No humans. His mouth tightened.

"You looks like you lookin' for sumthin'."

K'dzok didn't turn around immediately. "Maybe I am," he said slowly, pretending to study the pale, unappetizing root lying on his plate.

The newcomer was an ogre, not bothering with the chair, just toeing it aside with one big foot before sitting down in front of the table. Rough, fur-covered hides were wrapped around his rolling bulk and he had a staff over his shoulders. The chair out of the way, the table came up to just about the right height. Hiath still hadn't glanced up, continuing to eat.

"You gonna eat that?" the ogre asked with a jerk of his chins, four eyes in two faces fixed on the tuber on K'dzok's plate.

K'dzok considered it for a moment, picked it up, and tossed it onto Hiath's plate instead, raising his eyes to the ogre's. "Nope."

The ogre scowled. "Skinny elf ain't gonna . . ." His words trailed off, twin scowls deepening as Hiath finished off what was left of his own tuber and started on K'dzok's without missing a beat.

"Innkeeper!" K'dzok hollered. "Bring me some meat!"

"So you lookin' for somethin'," the ogre's left head resumed, the right still staring covetously at the root that Hiath was wolfing down. "I can help you find it."

"You know what I'm looking for?" K'dzok kept his tone casual, but his hand edged toward the haft of his axe.

"Titan treasure." The ogre shrugged. "Only reason anybody comes to this frozen hole."

K'dzok relaxed slightly. "Not exactly."

Both ogre heads turned to look at him at that, eyebrows rising. "A grudge?" they asked in unison.

"In a manner of speaking." K'dzok struggled to keep his face impassive. The ogre's eyes weren't gold, more like a dull maroon, but the two voices speaking together reminded him uncomfortably of the cave. "I'm looking for a human mage, calls himself Skinslayer, but his real name is Heironymus."

The ogre frowned. "How much you pay me to help you track him?"

K'dzok snorted, a smirk crossing his features. "How about I let you live?"

The ogre let out a bark of laughter. "Funny troll." Two sets of yellowing teeth were bared in twin smiles of dire intent, pairs of muddy eyes glinting. "Tim-Tom would rip you into pieces, and the Earthen would serve you to the next travelers who came through. You give Tim-Tom ten gold pieces a day, and Tim-Tom helps you find the human mage. Tim-tom knows these parts, knows the cliffs and the peaks."

"You've got a deal." K'dzok eyed the two thick necks. He'd killed an ogre before. This one couldn't be much harder. Once he got his axe into the base of one of the brain stems, the other head would be too busy writhing in agony for the few seconds it would take for K'dzok to cut that one too.

The staff bothered him though. It was gnarled, weatherbeaten, and old, but it looked solid nonetheless, little mouse skulls hanging from leather cords spiked to the top. It told him Tim-tom was an ogre-mage. It meant he would have to be extra-careful when the time came to kill him.

"You sleep tonight," Tim-tom said, faces and tone satisfied. "We leave for K3 in the morning. Goblin base. Plenty of heads to see your Skinslayer. Knock some together till they tell us where he went."

Well, K'dzok reflected as he followed Hiath into the room they would share, if there were a lot of heads in K3, there might just be a human one, and even if it didn't belong to Heironymus, it would still come in handy. He didn't have the money to pay Tim-tom, but he didn't really care. He just needed the right moment to kill the big bastard and loot anything valuable he was carrying, preferably while his back was turned, and ideally before Heironymus took mental control of him.

Tim-tom was waiting for them in the common room when they rose. K'dzok ate, though he still didn't care for the fare. It was fuel for his body, nothing more.

Outside, the howling hail they'd trudged through yesterday was absent, and K'dzok muttered profanities under his breath as he put the black goggles over his eyes to keep from going blind, glancing back over his shoulder to make sure Hiath did the same. Tim-tom fumbled a pair of goggles over each of his two heads, and they headed for the cliff edge.

They skirted the villages of vrykul, and K'dzok waited for the moment Tim-tom would turn, muddy maroon eyes changed to frozen amber, but it never happened. For all the sunlight it was still bitterly cold, enough that K'dzok could feel it biting through the furs he wore. He checked periodically on Hiath, but the brief rest in the shelter of the Refuge seemed to have refreshed the blood elf at least somewhat, because he kept up without apparent difficulty. It irritated K'dzok slightly to be dependent on this slim, pale-skinned little creature, but he kept his mouth shut and his eyes forward.

They were passing through a particularly narrow neck between two sheer walls of glistening sheet ice when the other ogre appeared at the mouth of it.

K'dzok wasn't terribly surprised. Tim-tom had made no mention of the payment he'd demanded for his services the previous night. The ogre-mage turned and smirked. K'dzok glanced backward. Sure enough, two more ogres were coming up behind them. He turned his gaze back to Tim-tom.

"Friends of yours?"

Tim-tom's grin widened. "You come quiet and Tim-tom doesn't have to hurt you. You fetch higher price that way too when Tim-tom sells you."

K'dzok's eyes drifted over Tim-tom's shoulder and widened as they caught sight of the approaching ogre. "I don't think they're going to help you," he advised, hefting his axe.

Tim-tom snorted. "These ogres are Tim-tom's kin, his blood. We sell you, get money. Done it plenty of times before. Don't think your elf going to save you either."

"Do you feel that, brute? The magic on the air?" Hiath's voice was a cool whisper. "Don't you feel it trying to coil around you? Pierce your flesh?"

Tim-tom snorted. "Tim-tom doesn't fall for mind tricks, elf. Tim-tom has a special charm just for that."

"Duly noted," said the amber-eyed ogre behind Tim-tom in calm, cultured tones as big, meaty hands closed around Tim-Tom's windpipes and started to squeeze.

K'dzok charged, axe rising and falling as it sank into Tim-tom's chest, coming up red, blood flying from its edge. He heard something explode with a howl behind him and kept on swinging even as the cold ground trembled beneath his feet.

Massive arms tossed Tim-tom's corpse aside, and the possessed ogre lurched towards K'dzok, arms outstretched. K'dzok swung, axe blade taking off sausage-like fingers, shearing through thick hands, biting again and again into fat forearms until he was covered in ogre blood, and then they were around him, lifting him in a bear hug and he let out a roar as they started to tighten on his ribs. He brought his axe down on one head and then the other, swings wild, cleaving pale, pudgy, hideous, tusked faces until the amber color drained out of the single remaining eye and the ogre tumbled backward, taking K'dzok with it.

For a long moment he simply lay there on the fat, distended belly, completely covered in blood, and then picked himself up, shrugging off the dead weight of a massive arm, and tried vainly to wipe some of the ichor off of his face.

Hiath was standing a short distance away, hands hidden in his sleeves, black goggles looking overly large on his delicately-featured face. K'dzok could see more blood running from underneath the left lens. Behind him, the neck of the narrow passage had filled in with chunks of ice. Of the other two ogres, there was no sign.

"Help me find the charm that kept the human out of his minds," K'dzok ordered after a moment. "Then let's go find K3."

The day passed to night before they managed to make it to the goblin base camp. Hiath matter-of-factly carved a hole into a cliff wall, and within minutes it had frozen into a suitable cave.

Melt me some water," K'dzok ordered, looking down at his blood-covered gear. He didn't ordinarily mind the stuff, but he was completely crusted with it. "Make sure it's hot."

He washed himself and his armor next to the fire, the heat of it keeping out the worst of the howling storm that had risen once more outside. At one point he glanced up and found Hiath's gaze resting on him, the eyes a distinct, radiant green-blue. He reached down, pulled on his cock, and stared back.

"Well?" he growled.

Hiath stared a moment longer, and then lowered his hood over his face once more.

For the first time, K'dzok considered fucking him. It had been almost two weeks now since Dalaran, and longer than that since his last actual fuck. He was past due. He snorted, and then shook his head. He needed to find Heironymus first, and to deal with Heironymus, he needed Hiath. Maybe after that he'd give the skinny blood elf the pounding of his life.

His eyes went to the little brooch he'd found in on of Tim-tom's pockets, the one Hiath said was probably the thing that had protected the ogre-mage's minds. It was green jasper, carved into a swirl, bracketed in silver clasps. He wasn't sure why Heironymus hadn't already taken control of his own body and used it to kill Hiath, but he wasn't going to take the chance of that happening now that he didn't have to.

He settled himself against the wall of the cave. His eyes went to Hiath, the elf curled up against the opposite wall on the other side of the fire.

"Hey," he growled. "Come warm me up."

Hiath got up after a minute, made his way around the fire, and K'dzok pulled the elf roughly to him. His bony ass wasn't as bad as it might have been with all the layers of robes providing padding, but it was still enough to give K'dzok second thoughts about putting his cock in it as he settled the elf in his lap, spreading the enveloping robes over his own legs like a blanket, and tucked one arm inside the robe, ignoring the elf's shiver.

It was, he thought sourly, like snuggling with a skeleton.

The storm didn't abate the next morning, and snow gradually began to build up in the mouth of the cave, piling on top of what had already been deposited the previous night. Barely two hours after what K'dzok's time sense told him should have been dawn, it was halfway towards the roof. K'dzok's mouth thinned. At this rate they'd be buried.

He shook Hiath roughly awake.

"We're going to have to move, or we'll be buried in here."

Hiath got up, and K'dzok mouthed a profanity as cold slid into the places where their bodies had trapped heat between them.

"Fuck," he muttered only five minutes later as the top portion of the snow wall fell in and a shaggy white-covered head appeared, big amber eyes regarding him with amusement in the huge, pale blue face.

"Come along," Heironymus said through the mouth of the frost vrykul he'd possessed. "I can't have you suffocating under three feet of snow before I've had a chance to make you really suffer. It's entirely too peaceful an ending."

Hiath was standing at the back of the cave, hands raised, but no fire jetted forth yet. K'dzok looked at him, and back at the vrykul.

"A truce, for now." The vrykul shrugged.

"We'll freeze out there," Hiath said quietly.

"You're a mage - you should know cold wards unless the elves have become even shittier spell-casters than I recall," the frost vrykul said bluntly. "Your fire spells certainly won't do you much good in this."

"How'd you find us?" K'dzok demanded.

The vrykul chuckled. "I've been combing the passages from the gorge where I almost had you with those ogres all the way to K3 for a good five hours now." He jerked a huge thumb behind him. "Come on, I've got much better entertainment planned for you courtesy of the goblins, and if you stay here, you're dead."

Once again, K'dzok half-expected Hiath to fall behind, and once again he was surprised by how the elf kept up. K'dzok didn't respect him for it exactly, but he was less irritated than he would have been otherwise, and that was something.

An amber-eyed taunka met them after around what K'dzok estimated was three hours of travel, and took them the rest of the way to K3 through the howling blizzard. They followed him through a thick wooden door into a low-ceilinged building lit by torches and the big fireplace along one wall.

K'dzok was numbed, frozen to the bone by his frosty journey. The scuffle was brief. He felt a pinprick in his right arm, and suddenly it wouldn't respond at all to his commands. He went down under a rush of two more taunkas, and got a glimpse of Hiath doubled over a fist in his belly, a troll with dark-green skin slamming him over the back of the head with a club.

"Well," the taunka said cheerfully in the cultured tones of Heironymus. "You know what comes next."

K'dzok only grunted as he was flung across a table, face-down, and iron manacles were closed around his wrists, his legs forced up and at an angle, knees clamped in more restraints. Armor and clothes were sawed off and ripped from his body. The wood was hard and slightly cold against his skin. K'dzok set his teeth.

"Joo got a nice ass, mon." The accent reminded K'dzok of home. It wasn't a comforting recollection. He craned his head around. The eyes that met his were red, not amber.

"_Help me out,_" K'dzok said in Zul'amani.

The troll just grinned around his tusks, white teeth contrasting with his dark green skin. "_Don't worry, you're gonna enjoy this. Or at least I am anyway_."

He wasn't small, he wasn't shy, and he didn't use any lubricant. At first K'dzok was able to hold it in. That lasted about two seconds, right up until he felt a massive bell end press against his tightly furled hole and start to push. Then he felt the other troll penetrate him and he couldn't help the agonized snarl that was torn from his throat.

K'dzok had never liked pain, and there'd always been more than a fair share of it for him growing up. He didn't like it any more now. He fought, struggled, writhed, muscles bunching, willing his right arm to wake up. The iron should have given way like wet tissue paper.

His arm didn't move in the slightest, didn't even twitch.

The troll plowed further into him. K'dzok's howls were lost in the storm that shrieked just outside.

When he woke, the manacles were undone. The building was empty but for the coals that burned low in the fireplace, and the huddled bundle in one corner that turned out to be Hiath, hair matted with dried blood, breathing shallow. K'dzok could feel the fluid that trickled down the inside of his leg from his loosened sphincter, seed and blood draining from his violated hole, a hollow, burning feeling there between his legs.

When he'd finally passed out, he'd dreamed once more of ice. It had melted away with the return of consciousness, leaving him scraped and stretched, used and aching. He could still feel that hard, throbbing, unyielding heat, driving into him again and again, merciless, feel the jizz splatter against his insides.

The shredded remnants of his clothes and armor were where they'd been left, but his axe was gone. K'dzok sorted through the rags until he found a pocket, brow creasing slightly as his fingers emerged with the swirl-carved jasper broach.

Of course. If Heironymus tried to pick it up with one of his pawns, he might well lose his connection to it. K'dzok caught it up in one fist.

He was going to have his revenge, and when he did, it was going to be particularly painful. Heironymus was going to find out just what a colossal mistake he'd made by humiliating K'dzok.

He was debating the wisdom of going out, ripping someone's head off, and taking their clothes and money when the door opened, admitting a troupe of goblins.

"We don't know what Skinslayer wants with you," said the leader. "We don't care. We just want him to stop screwing with K3. He's hiding up at the Temple of Winter, thinks nobody knows he's there." They dropped their burdens onto the floor, a thick cloak, a set of leather armor, and a short sword. One of the goblins left a small clay jar with a red cross on the table where K'dzok's blood was still soaking into the wood.

"Honest Max has wyverns, and the storm should blow over in an hour or so," their leader added, and without a word more, they left.

The jar was obvious. K'dzok uncorked it, took a generous swig himself, and felt the ache between his legs ease. He slapped Hiath until he started to come around, tipped up the elf's head, opened his mouth, and poured the rest down his throat.

It was all an obvious set up. K'dzok almost snarled at the contempt Heironymus was showing him.

The storm didn't exactly blow over, but the wind died down and the snow fell more or less vertically. The clothes were rough and a little small, the armor mismatched, but K'dzok took it anyway.

He didn't really have a choice.

Hiath was once again silently at his heel, the blood elf as uncommunicative as ever.

Honest Max handed them the reins of a wyvern with a broad grin, one that K'dzok half-suspected was a rictus, a facial muscular disorder the little green bastard couldn't get rid of. They flew swiftly northward, guided by a crude but serviceable map.

K'dzok's eyes narrowed as the roofless columned portico came into sight, a circle of mammoth pillars cresting a peak, oddly devoid of snow but for the rim of stone that connected their tops. The interior too, was noticeably bare of snow, even from this height, and K'dzok could see massive figures standing within as he circled above it. The wyvern banked with a shriek as K'dzok yanked its head around and dived towards the Titan temple.

The frost vrykul arrayed around the circular interior looked down at the troll and the blood elf with unblinking frozen amber eyes, not moving from where they stood.

K'dzok estimated there were maybe ten of them total.

"Where are you, Heironymus? I'm here, just like you wanted!" K'dzok's shout seemed thin and small in that place. The wyvern growled uneasily beneath him.

"Right here." The frost vrykul spoke in that freakish unison that K'dzok was coming to despise, mouths moving as one as they folded their hands behind their backs in perfect synchronization. "Right . . . everywhere." They chuckled together, booming voices like an avalanche.

"Where are you really?" he roared. "Quit playing games! Show yourself, conjurer of cheap tricks!"

"I enjoyed watching your kinsman fuck you." The voice came from the direction of the throne at one end of the portico that had, up until now, been empty. A pale figure stood in the seat, wrapped in snowy-white, even his long, braided hair colorless, the only exception his eyes, like frozen amber. "Listening to you howl and scream and wail, K'dzok, _that_ was quite satisfying indeed."

K'dzok could feel his teeth grinding. It was probably just another trick. He didn't care. He booted the wyvern in the ribs and it leapt with a roar.

The roar was still echoing between the columns when the beast literally turned to ice between K'dzok's legs, coming down and shattering over the stone, leaving him and Hiath both sprawled across it.

Heironymus had an amused smirk on his face. "You're going to have to do so much better than that."

K'dzok reached for Hiath, grabbed him by the arm, and yanked the blood elf to him. The pale face was fixed in agony, thick trails of blood pouring from eyes that glowed like brilliant azure stars.

"He hasn't given in yet." Heironymus shrugged, tucking his colorless hands into the pockets of the robes he wore. "He keeps eating the magic. It'll be interesting to see how long he can keep this up until he just explodes. At the rate he's going, by the time he pops he might well incinerate everything within a three hundred yard radius."

K'dzok picked up the elf, slung him over one shoulder, and began the futile sprint to where Heironymus was standing at his ease. He saw the smirk on that bloodless face widen.

The frost vrykul closed in.

K'dzok's left shoulder was beginning to sting, little jabs that pricked his skin, made his muscles twitch, and arcs of energy were crawling over Hiath's body. There wasn't much time. K'dzok dodged a massive blue hand that moved to block his path, feinted left and dove right around slapping fingers, dropped flat in time to avoid a large, swinging foot.

Heironymus, damn him, was laughing.

K'dzok was determined that that laughing sound would be the last one the human mage would ever make.

A vrykul crouched in front of him, golden eyes and huge mouth grinning, watching as he came.

K'dzok waited until the hand was almost around him, and stabbed the needle of the broach into the pale blue flesh.

The amber color drained from the vrykul's pale blue eyes, and it stared at him, confused. The laughter stopped. K'dzok dove right between the massive giant-kin's legs, slid, fetched up against the bottom of the throne, and held Hiath up, willing the blood elf to explode in a fiery conflagration.

Golden eyes looked back down at him, a mocking smile on those pale features, and K'dzok dropped him, arms and hands suddenly numb, coated with frost. The blood elf tilted his head back, opened his mouth wide, and blue fire spiraled skyward, a cerulean spire that reached the clouds and dwindled to nothing.

K'dzok watched as the charred remnants of Hiath's face tilted back downward, pale green eyes wide and lifeless, and the elf's corpse toppled at his feet.

He was too stunned to even notice the titanic roaring behind him, the battle that had ensued as two of the frost vrykul tackled their awakened kinsman off the side of the Temple. He glowered at the thin, shrunken body, furious at the betrayal.

"Well, this has been entertaining." Heironymus was sitting on the edge of the throne now, a few feet above K'dzok's head. "But it's time for you to go and destroy yourself, just like I did." The human mage's smile was malevolent, amber eyes hard and cold. "Go. Find a way to kill me, K'dzok, and be damned just as I am now."

K'dzok was still trying to force his frozen arms to work, to obey him, to reach up and tear the human down from the titan throne and batter his face into ruin as light swept him up, taking away the world.

Ж

Skinslayer looked at the place the troll had stood, the creature he had given up everything to destroy, and his hand came to rest briefly on the axe that sat on the stone beside him, cold and still sharp. He could feel the worn wood grains beneath his hand. How fitting it would have been to have reached down and cleaved that wretched visage in twain with the scarred blade, felt the vibrations travel up his arm as the axe took one last life. He could have in that moment of vulnerability, as those eyes raged at him, full of hate.

It hadn't been mercy that stayed his hand.

To kill K'dzok now would have been to avert the fate that Heironymus himself had suffered, to grant him respite from the terrible evil that his hatred would force him to become. A tiny, still-human part of him had almost done it, full of loathing for the rest of him. It was too small, too weak. The inexorable fate that Heironymus had set in motion would claim the troll, would take everything from him. In the end, he would know no pleasure, no ambition, no desire. In the end, there would be only vengeance, and then that too would be taken from him.

K'dzok would become as hollow, bitter, and terrible as Skinslayer himself, would hate himself for it, and in the end, would destroy himself. Even death's sweet embrace would be denied him.

Skinslayer would see to it.

He met his own eyes, saw the cold, deathly self-loathing in each reflected gaze.

Skinslayer vanished into glimmering motes of light.

Frost vrykul woke, staring at each other in confusion as their own minds slowly reasserted themselves. Pale, frosty blues eyes caught on the standards and symbols of enemy tribes.

The Storm Peaks reverberated with more than just howling wind.

* * *

**Author's Post-Script Notes:**

Well, a lot happened with K'dzok this chapter. Yes? No? Is this interesting? Is it boring?

Once again, I am looking for a good, constructive critique, especially as far as stylistics and flow go. And please let me know if I've got any typos. I proof-read these things, but I still have the occasional (and embarrassing) one or two here and there.


	6. Act I Scene V: Light Along The Edge

**Author's Notes:**

Warcraft and all applicable trademarks belong to Blizzard.

Thanks goes to Laughingcat312 for the formatting suggestion on Scene IV. I was initially a little hesitant because I was trying to use the Ж symbol for PoV changes only, but it honestly just looks better and is easier to read.

Please remember folks, I hate typos, but unfortunately they do show up. If you see any, let me know. I did a little bit of housecleaning on prior chapters, so _hopefully_ I got them all, but please tell me if I missed any.

That being said, sit back and enjoy!

* * *

Act I, Scene V

Light Along The Edge Of Two Worlds

Tandira opened her eyes with a start, heart thundering in her chest, a gasp escaping her lips. The night elf moon priestess rose from her bed. The symbol from the moonwell had hung before her in her dreams, spinning until she couldn't tell one side from the other, colors whirling, stopping with heart-stopping suddenness at an angle, shadows changing its edges, muting some, contrast emboldening others.

And she'd realized that there were a pair of eyes there in its depths, framed by its curves and corners, not silver like her own, but green as the heart of the forest. She trembled in mingled awe and fear, because there had been love in those eyes, but a love of terrible weight, a love that brought ruin as well as happiness, overthrowing all things before it, unstoppable, insurmountable.

It would not be ruled, she knew instinctively, would not be held back. She rose, slipped on a dusk-colored sleeping robe, belted it around her waist, and went out, deeply troubled by what she'd seen.

Her other two sisters already stood by the pool, faces raised to the moonlight that poured into the temple. Their faces were discomfiting reflections of her own troubled expression, hands held up in supplication to the silent goddess who guided them.

She went to join them, prayed in her heart for wisdom, for the strength to do what must be done. A small, shadowed, desperate part of her prayed that this would pass the kal'dorei by, though she knew such prayers were in vain.

Vaelomi was the first to lower her face, golden eyes coming to rest on Tandira and Mishai.

"You have seen it as well."

It was not a question.

Tandira nodded slowly, and after a moment's hesitation, Mishai followed suit.

"These eyes belong not to the kal'dorei," Vaelomi continued after a moment. "They are not eyes of light."

"But whose?" Mishai whispered. "Not those of the demon-slaved."

Vaelomi shook her head, but her gaze went to Tandira.

She was just as afraid as they were, Tandira realized with a start. She swallowed, and gathered her composure, trying to make her voice as convincing as possible, not just for her sisters, but for her own sake.

"They did not burn with the light of the fel," she said, a bit too firmly. Her voice reverberated around the chamber.

"A human then." Mishai's tone was relieved.

"Pale of skin, with hair like rich, thick honey." Hooves clopped quietly on the stone, and all three priestesses whirled as a Keeper of the Grove entered the chamber. Golden eyes blazed at them. The Keeper opened a hand, and a wisp danced over it, flaring into brilliance.

Tandira stared at the image the spirit conjured. Somehow it felt . . . _wrong._ The eyes were wells of darkness, shadowed and threatening beneath the golden brown curls.

"That is not what I saw," she said before she thought better of it.

"No," Vaelomi said, but her tone was thoughtful. "No, it was not what I saw either."

The Keeper dismissed the wisp with an impatient wave. "He is human, is he not? Did not those words come from your own lips a heartbeat ago?"

"His eyes were full of love," Mishai said softly. "Terrible love. Unreasoning and unbiddable."

"We must search," Vaelomi announced, raising her golden eyes to the Keeper's. "Will you aid us, Lord Cenorisen?"

The Keeper nodded, tail flicking, one hoof scraping against the dark marble of the floor. "There is something else you should know, priestesses. Something has awakened in Ashenvale. Something ancient, and dark."

Tandira felt goosebumps prickle across her skin. "Does it threaten us?"

"No. It hunts the orcs. For now." Cenorisen turned his gaze to Tandira. "But I can only wonder how long that will last."

"Then we had best hurry," Mishai said, staring at the waters of the moonwell.

Tandira glanced down in time to see a shadow dance over the surface of the pool, and shivered.

It wasn't until she lay in bed later that she wondered if what she and her sisters had seen and what Cenorisen had showed them had been, like the symbol, two sides of the same coin. She couldn't help but wonder which side of the future this human represented was the worse.

Ж

Ambryn bent to look down on the next shelf. He could have sworn the last time he'd been here they'd had black peppercorns, but all he saw at the moment was the stuff already ground. For a city chock full of wonders, black peppercorns were startlingly difficult to find.

Of course, that might have something to do with the city's abrupt change in location two years ago to support the two-way, sometimes three-way front with the threat posed by the Lich King and the Blue Dragon flight, and occasionally the forces of the Horde.

In Ambryn's opinion it was just as well that Malygos' deathblow had been struck by an angry one-eyed orc named Buster McBrown after the death of his adoptive human parents at the claws of one of the dragon's kin. It meant the blue dragons were, more or less, inclined to hate the Alliance at least that much less than they detested the Horde.

And besides, there was just something about an orc named Buster McBrown that you couldn't help but admire, especially when he brought down a colossal, frost-breathing, magic-wielding death machine with nothing but a rusty axe hastily enspelled by a high elf mage and a human priestess. The fact that he'd died after performing his heroic act in Malygos' belly just made it a better story really.

He stood with a sigh. Maybe the peppercorns simply weren't in season and there wasn't enough to bring in through the portals from continental Azeroth.

"Like honey somebody spilled on top of half-melted ice cream."

Ambryn froze, the old familiar line from the poem coming back to him, spoken in the same fond tone in the same low baritone. He turned after a long moment.

Hector, _Sir_ Hector now, he reminded himself, had only grown more handsome in the years they'd been apart, blond hair still cropped short, blue eyes full of laughter in his handsome, square-jawed face, skin kissed lightly by the sun. He was taller, broader of shoulder, lean teenager's body filled out to a muscular man's girth.

It wasn't that Ambryn didn't recall his father's visit. The words were the first thing to rush to the front of his brain. But old feelings were rising again as well, days spent in the bay window in his room, reading poetry, eating grapes and strawberries, rides out by Sansere Lake, picnics in the grass.

A wet, sopping ride in a rainstorm, sharing a horse.

A deep, passionate kiss in the barn.

"I was . . . looking for black peppercorns." Ambryn swallowed, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, he could see trepidation on Hector's handsome face. He asked the question anyway.

"Did my father send you?"

Hector blinked, last traces of his smile vanishing. "Amber, the last time I saw your father was when I was seventeen and he teleported me out of your bedroom into a cold, driving rainstorm with nothing but my boxers on." His brow furrowed, voice becoming a drawl. "He sent my horse home the next day with all my clothes and gear and a _laundry_ _list_ of my _transgressions_."

Ambryn nodded. "I'm sorry. I should have known you wouldn't have let him use you willingly, but . . . people change, Hector." He looked down.

"It's been seven years, Ambryn." The pet name was gone. Ambryn was surprised how much that hurt. A finger came to rest against his chin, lifted his face so that he met those blue eyes once more, darkened now. Hector's voice was sad. "Tell me what's happened to you."

Ambryn forced a smile to his lips. "Let's . . . talk elsewhere."

Hector's smile made a slight reappearance. "There's a cafe around the corner."

It was amazing, Ambryn thought as he talked, how quickly one fell into old modes, even ones that hadn't been used for seven years. He felt relaxed, and yet oddly watchful, as though he were yet engaged in something his father wouldn't approve of instead of sitting out in broad daylight having a simple conversation over a meal.

"I'm sorry for your loss. Tybalt . . ." Hector shook his head. "It must have been bad." He reached across the table, enfolded one of Ambryn's hands in his callused, slightly larger one. His blue eyes were sincere. "But I'm here now, and . . . I know we can't pick up where we left off, but I'd like to see if we can't get back to that place." He smiled warmly.

Ambryn felt an ache in his chest, throbbing and awful. He pulled away from Hector's hand, saw the hurt in those blue eyes, felt like his heart was tearing itself in two.

"I'm seeing someone," he said quietly. "It's the reason I thought my father had sent you. He's a night elf mercenary."

"Naturally, Tybalt doesn't approve." Hector's voice turned dry. "At least I know it's not me." He shrugged, gaze dropping to Ambryn's hand. "You're not wearing a ring yet."

Ambryn gave him a wary look. "Hector, I-"

"Amber." The name was like a tether, binding them close once more, strengthened by the power of memory. Ambryn froze as those blue eyes bored into his own and that hand closed around his once more.

Hector's smile was rueful, but some of the darkness had returned to his eyes. "If you had turned away from me in that store, told me that there was nothing between us anymore, Light help me, I would have believed it. But the way I felt before, it's all coming back, and I can't put it away again. I'm right back where I was, under your spell." The callused hand squeezed. Hector's smile faded. "You aren't married yet, sweetheart - it doesn't even sound like you're sure he's your boyfriend." He paused. "And I'd say I deserve a second chance."

He stood, looking down at Ambryn. "I'll make you smile for me if it's the last thing I ever do," he said quietly as he left coin to cover the cost of the meal. His blue eyes were intent. "I'll see you again."

Ж

Nathiel's mouth felt like it was twisted into a permanent scowl. Belauq hadn't spoken a single word to him over the course of the day they'd spent in Valgarde. He really wasn't taking this well.

Nathiel resisted the urge to look over his shoulder and give the druid a searching look as they made their way back toward the Grizzly Hills and eventually Dalaran.

Reprovisioning was cheaper than hiring a mage to teleport them and their gear and mounts back to Dalaran, and it'd be faster and much less dangerous without any inexperienced travelers underfoot, not that they hadn't tried to find a fare back out of simple expediency. After all, any trip made without pay was an unprofitable one, but it was less unprofitable than waiting around in Valgarde spending their pay.

Besides, he really wanted to get back to Ambryn. The corners of Nathiel's mouth lightened at last at the thought, and he actually felt cheerful, up until he heard Belauq's rich, familiar chuckle anyway as he laughed at something Kuma had said.

It wasn't like Belauq at all. The druid liked the north for the most part, but Nathiel knew full well that Dalaran rubbed him entirely the wrong way, and the Crystalsong forest was equally bad, either one a "creepy, unnatural abomination" in Belauq's own words.

Nathiel shook his head. The druid was up to something, and it probably wasn't going to be pretty.

He could feel Reiyad's eyes on him, the hunter's gaze concerned.

"Yeah?" Nathiel's voice came out as a surly growl. He grimaced at the sound.

"He's waiting for you to talk to him." Reiyad waited as the silence slipped by. "He might turn around and go back if . . ."

Nathiel ignored him, kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, trying to keep his brow from creasing, deliberately relaxing his jaw instead of grinding his teeth. "If he wants to come along, then that's his right," he said coolly. "He's guild."

The concern in Reiyad's expression only deepened, but he said nothing more.

Thankfully none of the others were nosy or foolish enough to attempt to get him to reconcile the situation with Belauq. They simply talked around any gaps in conversation.

Nathiel knew the game. Belauq was just waiting for Nathiel's baser instincts to take their course and drive him into Belauq's arms and his body. It had worked successfully on previous occasions when the two of them were having a disagreement. In truth, Nathiel himself was surprised at how the sight of Belauq's lithe form and pretty, pale blue face only made him long all the more for Ambryn.

He could do it, he knew, bed Belauq and not feel a hint of shame afterwards. The druid wouldn't say a thing, wouldn't act smug after, just roll over, let him in, and enjoy it. The trouble was, Nathiel didn't want to, and in truth that realization was somewhat unsettling for him.

He could still bed Belauq as easily and casually as drinking a beer.

Only he had an inexplicable craving for a sweet wine in the form of rosy lips with a faint bouquet of mint, and nothing else would satisfy.

"I had Delia cast abolish magic on you," Belauq said the third night as Nathiel was laying out his bedroll, breaking the silence at last, apparently realizing his usual tactics weren't going to work. "While you were in Valgarde."

Nathiel didn't look back at him. "So your dryad friend thought I was bewitched too?"

"No." Belauq's tone remained casual. "She said it was pheromones, plain and simple, but she cast it anyway just to be sure."

Nathiel hung his head. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he said quietly.

"Oh, I don't blame you. If there's one thing I know about, it's nature."

Nathiel straightened and turned.

He could read the pain in those golden eyes, not entirely masked, and it stung. "So he's special." Belauq's tone was prodding.

Nathiel shook his head, almost reached out to him, only he wasn't sure the gesture wouldn't be misunderstood, hand falling back to his side. He looked at Belauq sadly. "You don't have to do this."

"Please." Belauq's mouth trembled slightly.

"When I'm with him I feel . . . invincible. Alive. I feel . . ." Nathiel grimaced because the next word sounded trite even as his lips shaped it, and yet there was no other way he could think of to describe it. "Whole." He ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. "When I'm there with him, it's like the rest of the world doesn't matter any more. There's him, and there's me, and that's all we need. When I touch him, I feel so . . . _connected_. I can still feel his skin on mine whenever I think about him, I can still taste his lips, and when I kiss him it's . . ." He dropped his head, because the words failed him. "It's just . . . it's perfect. I don't know how else to describe it."

He looked up. Tears were streaming from Belauq's golden eyes, and yet there was a faint, sad smile on the night elf druid's features.

"I'm sorry," Nathiel said helplessly.

"No." Belauq shook his head, swallowing, reaching up to wipe his smooth, pretty, pale blue face with his thumb. "If you'd waxed eloquent like some sort of bard, spouting lines from Illnia and Rolan or some other play, then I would have known for sure it was bullshit." He let out a long, wavering breath. "I . . . well, I guess I can't really compete with the truth." His expression firmed. "But I want to meet him."

"Belauq-" Nathiel's tone was a warning.

"I won't cause trouble." Belauq looked him in the eye. "I just want to meet him."

Nathiel nodded hesitantly after a moment, still not completely buying Belauq's behavior, but he _did_ owe the druid.

They encountered vrykul the next morning, or almost did anyway. Reiyad was scouting ahead, and his sabre mount came bounding back around a bend, sprinting towards the rest of the group.

"Vrykul, he said quickly, glancing back over his shoulder as the massive tiger came to a sliding halt in the dust of the road. "A _lot_ of them. They're camped across the road and to either side."

"How many is a lot?" Kuma asked with an arched eyebrow.

"I stopped counting at sixty." Reiyad shook his head. "This isn't like them."

"Well, that explains the tracks you found this morning." Kuma's expression turned pensive. The draenei shamaness glanced around at her guildmate subordinates. "Any ideas? We should probably turn around and head back to Valgarde, but I'm wondering if a group this size might not be screening troop movements. If the vrykul are taking military action, the Alliance needs to be warned."

Nathiel nodded. "Reiyad and I-"

"And me," Belauq interjected with a glance at Nathiel.

"And Belauq," Nathiel added with a sideways glance at the druid "will all scout the other side of the road to Dalaran. We'll send word back to Valgarde with a mage, either Sillesto or Brahnke. One of them should be back from Outland by now."

"I keep telling Mattran we need to recruit more mages." Kuma shook her head. "All right. Scout out as much of the enemy position as you can without getting caught and look for any other vrykul detachments that might be moving on Dalaran. The latter should be your first priority. Move quickly and don't get caught."

"Yes Mom," Reiyad said with a crooked grin.

"Good boy," Kuma fired back without batting an eyelash. "We'll see you in three days."

She turned her elekk, Bandrin and his ram on her heels, and they headed back the way they'd come. Belauq dismounted, shape flowing and melting into dark green shadow that stretched and twisted, eventually settling into the form of a great cat not all that different from his mount.

Reiyad took the lead, Belauq pacing him to his left, and Nathiel fell in slightly behind and to the right as they left the road.

In truth, Nathiel wasn't terribly concerned about the ability of the Kirin Tor to defend themselves or their city in a head-to-head confrontation even if the vrykul were able to field a much larger, stronger force than they'd projected thus far. The wizards had acquitted themselves well against the maddened blue dragonflight – no small feat when their enemy had been practicing their craft millenia before them.

The vrykul could, however, wreak havoc on already tenuous routes between the ports of Northrend and the floating city. Magical travel was accessible, but it definitely wasn't as cheap.

Nathiel shook his head to clear it. None of it mattered. What he needed to do now was to make sure the vrykul weren't up to anything sneaky and get back to Ambryn. His gaze went to Belauq, and his mouth tightened.

"Freeze!" Reiyad's voice was a hiss.

Nathiel didn't question, just stopped right where he was in the shadows beneath the trees and let his heart beat, felt the blood flow through his veins, breathing slow and deep. The world stilled as the shadows embraced him and his mount.

He saw them after a moment, and thought a quiet prayer of thanks to Elune for Reiyad's keen eyes.

The four trolls were on foot, leading raptors behind them, and Nathiel counted five orcs and three goblins following close in their wake, also dismounted. Clearly the night elves weren't the only ones trying to circle around the vrykul.

Their wary gazes slid right past Nathiel, Reiyad, and Belauq.

It was a long time before Reiyad moved again, the shadows releasing him, gesturing for Nathiel and Belauq to follow silently.

Three sets of giant, padded paws moved soundlessly over the earth as they stalked the members of the Horde.

Reiyad turned after about ten minutes, redirecting them to a lateral course at an angle to the route the others had taken.

"Five," he murmured. "Four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . ."

A vrykul horn went up from somewhere off to their left and Reiyad tapped his heels to his sabre mount's ribs. They took off at a sprint, and Nathiel heard the sound of an explosion, then another. More horns were blowing. Evidently the Horde fighters had walked right into the vrykul.

They crested a rise, and Nathiel caught a glimpse of three of the massive giants running east towards the sound of the horns through the trees, luckily not noticing them. He added another prayer of thanks to Elune, this one for unfortunate Horde members, as he followed Reiyad down the slope. The big cats ran north.

They'd been running for nearly five minutes when Nathiel heard it.

"Help! Somebody! Help! _HEEEELP!_"

Nathiel turned his head, glancing over his left shoulder, and gritted his teeth as a goblin on a raptor appeared behind them through a screen of brush, mount running full out, the goblin's oversized robes flapping around him.

More horns sounded, close.

The goblin was angling towards them, clearly more willing to take his chances with night elves than with the vrykul. Reiyad turned in the saddle, bow drawn, released the arrow in his fingers, and it whipped past Nathiel's face. The arrow took the goblin in one shoulder and knocked him off of his raptor to the ground, drastically reducing his options in the matter.

Vrykul appeared, javelins and axes in their huge hands, faces inscrutable behind their helms at this angle, slowing as they caught up with the wounded, wailing goblin.

The kal'dorei pounded over another rise, and then the vrykul were lost from sight.

"Nice shot, hitting that goblin," Nathiel said late that night as they rested in the boughs of a tree.

Reiyad winked. "I figured he really wanted to be reunited with his friends. They can all enjoy the hospitality of the vrykul together."

Belauq said nothing, staring up at the stars through the tree boughs, golden eyes distant.

Nathiel's brow furrowed slightly as he glanced at the druid, but his eyes went to the south. "Think we're likely to meet more?"

"I hope not. I didn't see any tracks like this morning." Reiyad shook his head. "It's not out of the question though."

A cold, freezing drizzle set in during the early hours before dawn. By noon, Nathiel was soaked to the bone despite his cloak, hunched over his sabre mount's back. They had no choice but to light a fire that night and set up a tent. Reiyad didn't find any more vrykul tracks along their route. Belauq continued to hold his silence, shapeshifting into a great tree, branches spread over the fire and his companions.

It wasn't like before, when he'd been waiting for Nathiel to come to him. It was a different silence, and somewhat troubling. He'd ask him in the morning. They weren't lovers anymore, but that didn't mean he'd stopped caring about the druid entirely.

The freezing drizzle continued to dog them even beyond the borders of the Crystalsong forest. His attempts to ascertain the source of Belauq's new silence were in vain.

The druid just shrugged. "I'm cold and tired. I'm not used to being away from my bed for so long. I'll feel better in Dalaran."

Nathiel knew Belauq well enough to realize it wasn't the whole truth, but he didn't pursue it. Ambryn was close.

It was late afternoon and getting on towards evening when they were able to escape the icy mist at last through the portal to Dalaran where it floated high above the clouds. Nathiel knew he should go back to his own apartment, get cleaned up, report to Mattran about the unusual vrykul activity. His thoughts, however, were of a pale, smiling face beneath honey-spun hair, a face he hadn't seen in eleven days, a mouth he hadn't been able to kiss in as long. At the very least he should clean up before he went to visit Ambryn, get some fresh clothes.

His eyes went to Reiyad, who just shook his head, a faint smile crossing his features. "I'll tell Mattran you'll be by tomorrow," the hunter said dryly. "Come on Bells."

The nickname got a scowl from Belauq, who glanced around the square, golden eyes searching.

"He's not here," Nathiel said coolly.

Belauq's golden eyes met his, and the kal'dorei druid nodded after a moment. "Don't forget your promise," he said quietly.

Nathiel just snorted and headed for Ambryn's apartment building at a jog.

Ж

Ambryn's head came up at the sound of a knock on the door and he glanced at the soup on the stove, still simmering, not quite ready yet. The rolls were still in the oven. The only thing ready was the cream broulet that Annatta had helped him make for dessert. He looked down at his plain, clay-colored shirt and loose pants. He'd planned to dress up a little bit more too.

He drew in a deep breath and went to answer the door.

Nathiel's silver eyes glowed in his handsome face as he stood there in the hallway, soaking wet, still wearing his night-blue armor and cloak, spear across his back. He didn't speak immediately.

Ambryn couldn't seem to make his voice work. Nathiel must have come straight to his apartment the moment he arrived in the city. The realization made Ambryn's heart beat harder, warmth blooming in his chest, and he could feel heat entering his cheeks even as a smile crossed his lips. He took one of Nathiel's big, callused hands in both of his, and tugged gently.

For a moment, as the door opened, Nathiel couldn't breathe. He drank in the sight of Ambryn's face, the face that had shone in his dreams, jade eyes like the unspoiled forests of Ashenvale, the full, rosy lips that begged to be kissed, the honey-spun curls in glorious, glimmering disarray. It was like a vision of the Light.

Ambryn reached for him, tugging gently, and Nathiel forgot that he was cold to the bone and soaking wet, chilled in every part of his body, muscles aching. He stepped inside, captured both of Ambryn's smaller hands in his, and brought the human's fingers to his lips, kissing them, utterly content in this moment in where he was, who he was with.

"Can I buy you dinner?"

Ambryn bit his bottom lip. "I actually cooked . . . for you."

Nathiel blinked, startled, and then smiled warmly. He glanced down at his wet gear, expression turning rueful. "I um . . . sorry I didn't . . ."

"No." Ambryn shook his head. "You came straight here, and I . . ." Ambryn hesitated, the blush in his cheeks deepening, the color tantalizing to Nathiel's eyes.

". . . I wanted to see you," Ambryn finished awkwardly, voice soft. "Dinner's not quite ready yet, and you look soaked to the bone. Would you like to take a bath and warm up a little?" He studied every line of the square-jawed, chiseled face, admiring it, basking in the glow of the silver eyes that met his gaze.

Nathiel nodded. "Thank you."

Ambryn leaned against the counter in his small kitchen and tried not to think of big, sexy Nathiel utterly naked in his bathroom, his broad shoulders, powerful chest, tight abdomen, lean waist, long, powerful legs . . . and between those legs . . . he shook his head and checked on the rolls, face burning from more than just the heat of the oven.

It wasn't until Nathiel finished showering, fantasizing vaguely of Ambryn entering in nothing more than a sheer robe and joining him in the big brass tub, that he noticed the mouthwatering scent that pervaded the apartment.

He glanced briefly at his wet, dirty gear, took a deep breath, and emerged from the bathroom with one of Ambryn's towels around his waist. It was provocative, but then, that was what he was hoping for.

Ambryn glanced up from setting the table as Nathiel entered, and his heart stopped at the sight of all that muscle, not an ounce of fat anywhere, a faint dusting of dark hair across the night elf's broad, chiseled chest narrowing to a slim line down his rippling abdomen before disappearing beneath the towel around his waist. Desire flashed hot through Ambryn's body, heat pooling between his legs.

Nathiel smiled as he saw Ambryn's gaze settle on him, glide over him. "The food," he said honestly, "smells delicious."

"It's chicken noodle soup." Ambryn blushed all over again. He couldn't seem to stop. "I . . . I'm glad you're back."

Nathiel's smile gentled, the warmth in those jade eyes stirring up fire in his heart as well as his body.

The soup really was excellent. Nathiel had no qualms about taking a second helping, savoring the noodles, the broth, the chicken, the vegetables. Combined with the company it warmed him right to his soul, made him forget the cold, the long days and nights, the vrykul, everything, and he relished the simple pleasure of sitting across from Ambryn, just the two of them here, sharing a home-cooked meal and a bottle of sweet white wine. It was something he'd never seen himself doing, and its discovery made him determined to repeat the experience.

"Annatta helped me make dessert." Ambryn didn't mention that Annatta was a high elf as he got up from the table, tearing his gaze away from Nathiel only with difficulty. He couldn't see how bringing that up at this point would help anything, and he didn't want to disturb the warm, relaxed atmosphere. "I'll be right back."

He turned around, the broulet in his hands, and met that mesmerizing chest, following the throat up to the chin, to the handsome face and silver eyes as Nathiel looked down at him. Long, powerful arms on either side of Ambryn supported the night elf's weight as he leaned against the counter.

They ate the broulet with a single spoon, washed it down with more white wine, and ended up on Ambryn's couch. Nathiel lay on his back, head cushioned on one arm, his fingers twining with Ambryn's curls, the human lying atop him, a soft, comforting weight.

"I don't want this to end," he said softly, looking into Ambryn's beautiful jade eyes.

Ambryn smiled at him. "It doesn't have to," he murmured back.

Nathiel kissed him long and slow, gradually deepening the kiss. He wasn't sure how long they just laid there making out, or when exhaustion finally claimed him, but he slept deeply and contentedly with Ambryn there in his arms, holding him close, wrapped up in a perfect world.

Ambryn looked into Nathiel's handsome, sleeping face, a big hand still curved around the back of his neck, fingers tangled gently with his curls, the body beneath him not exactly soft, but at least not any harder than granite, and felt content. Here in this moment, he didn't have to worry about his father or Hector. He could lie here in Nathiel's arms, safe and secure – none of the rest of it mattered.

Ambryn closed his eyes and followed Nathiel into the world of dreams.

Ж

Sir Hector Evansley had faced many foes in his career as a knight, both in battle and in arenas more personal and political.

He knew the night elf mercenary instantly on sight, felt a hot spark in his chest that threatened to burst into genuine rage as he saw the tall, lean, armored figure brush past robed mages without so much as a glance at any of them, stepping confidently up onto the porch of Ambryn's apartment building. If he was there to see anyone but Ambryn, Hector would strangle himself with his own sword.

He knew Ambryn. A confrontation would only make the mage regard him in a less forgiving light, and the first one he'd turn to would be the night elf. So Hector watched, impotent and furious, as his adversary vanished inside, and turned away, stalking towards a different place in the city.

Ж

It wasn't unusual for Tybalt Dellani to work late. The opposite was actually the exception. Going home only reminded him of what he'd lost. It only reminded him of Marianne . . . and now Ambryn.

He read over correspondence, always correspondence, from his eyes and ears back in the hinterlands surround Dalaran, from his spies in Stormwind Keep, from his few agents in Shattrath City in the Outlands.

But tonight he was reading a letter that didn't come from one of his agents.

The parchment smelled of the thick, lush greenery of the forest, the silky envelope a dark, rich purple, the broken seal now in halves embossed with a crescent moon surrounded by a crown. Ambassador Tybalt Dellani of the Kirin Tor sat in his office and brooded over the missive.

"_Yours sincerely, scribe Aulundir Mashalath_," read the closing.

There wasn't much to the letter, empty pleasantries, a few well-wishes, a sprinkle of pomp, and a single paragraph, four lines, that said little, but conveyed a great deal. Tybalt regarded the letter over steepled fingers as though half-expecting it to turn into an adder at any moment, wheels spinning in his mind, cogs ticking along in precise silence as he thought.

There were possibilities.

Those possibilities could be perilous in nature.

They could yield a considerable reward.

The letter had vanished before the handle on his office door had finished turning, his fingers resting lightly on the braided grip of the silver wand in the top-right drawer of his desk.

He arched an eyebrow as a face he hadn't expected to see quite so soon appeared from behind the door as it swung open. He didn't release his grip on the wand.

"Sir Hector Evansley." Tybalt kept his tone completely neutral.

"In the flesh." Hector smiled coldly. "Hello Tybalt."

Tybalt's hand tightened on the wand. "Is there something I can assist you with?"

"Actually, according to Ambryn I think I'm supposed to be helping you," Hector replied easily, shutting the door behind him and sitting in one of the comfortable chairs on the other side of the desk. He was wearing a suit, Tybalt noted absently, mind already ratcheting through calculations and quickly arriving at a conclusion. "You really bungled that by the way."

"Then you're jeopardizing both our efforts by being here." Tybalt released the wand at last. "Ambryn will not take kindly to your meeting with me."

"He's occupied by a certain night elf mercenary at the moment. He got to the apartment before I could." Hector's cold smile widened slightly as Tybalt's jaw tightened. "Obviously we're both agreed that I'm a better alternative."

"Obviously," Tybalt managed after a moment, folding his hands on top of his desk, willing himself back towards calmness. "You will be compensated."

Hector snorted. "We can discuss that later, if it isn't already too late. Ambryn is what I want."

Tybalt nodded. "I will offer what assistance I can."

"You're already making a move on the mercenary?"

"Eanté is scouring public records for anything we can use, and we plan to see if we can't get him out of the city on assignment in the meantime," Tybalt replied bluntly.

Hector nodded. "I'll have to rely on you for that. I also need a book. _Sandra Dayren's Irrationally Everyday Poetry_."

Tybalt's jaw tightened. He knew the book well. It had been Marianne's favorite. It was also the book he'd found in Ambryn's room after he'd ejected Hector from his home. "I'll look for it."

"Make it quick," Hector said, rising. "The elf has stolen a march on us. It's going to be hard enough overtaking him. I'll need every weapon you can give me."

"I will see that you are . . . suitably armed." Tybalt arched an eyebrow. "Anything else?"

"Not really." Hector turned and headed for the door. "I still think you're a dick."

Tybalt resisted the urge to reach for the wand once more as the door slammed shut behind the knight.

Ж

* * *

**Author's Post Script Notes:**

Just a couple of items on this chapter – I tried to be a little bit more sneaky about teaser hooks for upcoming events in later chapters, especially since moving K'dzok along in the previous chapter felt a little bit ham-fisted to me, but there's just so much that needs doing there to get everything into place.

I think everyone can take what happened last chapter and this chapter and figure out what the vrykul are up to, but let me know if you think I should include a plot device to elucidate or if it's just not a loose end that warrants further wrapping up. I'm thinking about doing it next chapter if it needs it.

As always, critiques on stylistics, flow, and plotting are appreciated. Help me be a better writer and I'll give you better stuff to read!


	7. Act I Scene VI: A Sky Full of Hawks

**Author's Notes:**

Warcraft and all applicable trademarks belong to Blizzard.

I know I said last chapter that I had a lot to do with K'dzok, but somehow he didn't make it into this chapter. So for those of you who were looking for him - sorry - I'll have more next chapter, promise.

Oh, mild smut warning. Okay, maybe it's not so mild. Getting CLOSER to the sex, I promise.

Err, just not there yet.

Anyway, without further ado!

* * *

Act I, Scene VI

A Sky Full of Hawks

Nathiel woke slowly. The morning sun was coming in through the window behind the couch, spilling across the floor through a narrow gap between blue-gray curtains that weren't fully drawn, radiance shimmering softly over Ambryn's tumble of honey curls, his head pillowed on Nathiel's purple chest.

The weight of him there felt good, felt _right_. Nathiel didn't need to touch him, didn't need to wake him. He was content to lie where he was and simply savor the intimacy of this moment. He'd woken alone with his partner gone and the other side of the bed cooled more times than he cared to recall. At the moment he didn't care to recall any of those times. He closed his eyes once more, not sleeping, just drifting.

Morning roused his body to wakefulness and stirred one part of him in particular, reminding him that he hadn't had sex in what was, for him, an unusually long time, and that there was an attractive prospective mate in close, intimate contact with him right this very moment. Blood rushed to his groin and he suppressed a groan of unadulterated desire. Resisting the urge to run his hands through those amber curls and bring his mouth to Ambryn's was suddenly _much_ more difficult.

His body ignored his attempts to tell it that right this moment really _wasn't_ a good time for this. He could feel his manhood stiffening, swelling, nerves becoming sensitized. In less than a minute he could see the dark purple head of his erection curving up over Ambryn's pajama-clad backside. It twitched, semi-involuntarily, and Nathiel's breathing sped up as the motion brought it into close contact with Ambryn's bottom. He felt the soft fabric give beneath the weight of his shaft, and let out a strained expulsion of air as he felt Ambryn's cleft beneath it.

Nathiel was losing the battle. He was about to reach up and run his fingers along the back of Ambryn's neck when the human stirred.

"Mmm." His voice was a pleasurable vibration against Nathiel's skin, breath blowing over his nipple, making it harden. "Good morning."

"Morning," Nathiel rasped. He couldn't hold back anymore. One hand curled around Ambryn's neck, and the human scooted up, meeting Nathiel's lips with his own, opening, allowing the kal'dorei's tongue to slip inside and plunder. Nathiel couldn't help himself. His other hand came up, squeezing a soft, pillowy buttock before sliding over, dragging roughly down the cloth, middle finger tracing Ambryn's valley underneath. Ambryn broke the kiss with a wanton sigh, sliding back down, forcing another slow exhalation as Nathiel fought hopelessly to control himself, the human's lips pressing kisses against his chin, his throat, his chest.

Ambryn's rump came once more into contact with Nathiel's now fully erect penis, buttocks soft and warm, and Nathiel let out another soundless exhalation, because the growl of lust that wanted to erupt from deep in his chest _definitely_ would have frightened the human off.

Ambryn glanced over his shoulder. His tone was thoughtful, but also slightly apprehensive. "How big are you?"

Nathiel hesitated. "Ten inches," he lied, mentally crossing his fingers behind his back. Then he grinned devilishly. "Wanna go for a ride?"

Ambryn turned to look him in the eye once more, surprised expression enough to make Nathiel a little surprised himself.

"What, now?" he asked, brow furrowed, pale face slightly flushed.

"Well . . . yeah," Nathiel replied awkwardly, slightly embarrassed but still horny and willing.

Ambryn looked at him quizzically for a moment longer, and then, to Nathiel's surprise, smiled brightly at him and got up. "Let me go get dressed," he called over his shoulder.

The bedroom door closed behind him. Nathiel brought the heel of his palm to his forehead and swore quietly under his breath.

It only took a few strokes to get off as aroused as he was, and he flushed Ambryn's toilet and pulled on his gear from yesterday. It didn't smell any better, but at least it was dry. He wasn't satisfied, not by a long shot, but he also didn't want to go back to Ambryn and explain just what he'd meant.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath before he opened the door.

Ambryn's brown and green robes were divided for riding, the collar lined with gray fur, and Nathiel caught sight of polished black leather boots and patches of thick brown fabric on the inside of the knees and thighs of his trousers, obviously to protect his legs from chafing.

Ambryn smiled brightly at him again, long riding gloves in one hand, but there was something in his eyes that didn't seem quite as warm as usual. Still, his look turned appreciative enough when Nathiel curved an arm around his waist and escorted him to the door.

Nathiel's irritation had worn off for the most part by the time they'd reached the stable, and he continued to keep a hand on Ambryn's waist as they waited for one of the grooms to bring out Ambryn's horse.

The moment the palomino caught sight of him it pulled its reins peremptorily from the startled groom's hands and trotted quickly over, nosing at Ambryn's pockets and completely ignoring Nathiel and the groom both.

Ambryn laughed, the sound genuine, and Nathiel relaxed, thinking ruefully that while it wasn't exactly what he'd been planning, it apparently wasn't a disaster. A sedate little ride a little way into the Crystalsong forest wouldn't hurt anything. He grinned as Ambryn fed his headstrong mount an apple the horse had clearly been expecting.

There was no reason they couldn't still have a good time tonight.

They walked their mounts to the portal down to the forest, left the outpost, and Nathiel lifted Ambryn easily into the saddle, once again relishing the weight of him in his arms. Their was a definite glow in Ambryn's eyes now as he looked down at Nathiel.

"Thanks," he said quietly. "I guess this was exactly what I needed."

"You're welcome." Nathiel returned the smile, taking Ambryn's hand in his own for a moment. The palomino turned its head and snorted at him, clearly not in the mood for tender lovers' moments.

Nathiel turned to his sabre mount and swung easily up into the saddle, the big cat shifting its weight underneath him. If the palomino was at all troubled by the big cat or its scent, it didn't show. The horse pawed impatiently at the snow.

"Ready?" Ambryn asked cheerfully, light still in his eyes.

Nathiel nodded, a broad grin stretching across his features as he took in the sight of Ambryn, noting absently just how well he held himself in the saddle, like a well-trained . . .

Ambryn clicked his tongue, and the rest of Nathiel's thoughts vanished as horse and mage sped off like a shot, his heart rising to his throat as they vanished into the trees at a gallop, kicking up snow, Ambryn's laughter tinkling in the crystal trees behind them.

Nathiel's mount waited a moment for an identical command from its startled master, and then took the initiative and took off after them.

Nathiel quickly overcame his shock and leaned into his sabre to create less wind resistance, grin returning even fiercer than before, silver eyes alight. It was something he wouldn't have expected of Ambryn, not his sweet, sheltered little human mage, suddenly revealed to be a wild horseman. He let his sabre worry about holding the trail and gave him his head, letting out a hunting call as he pursued Ambryn into the forest.

_A good hunt indeed_ he thought ruefully, recalling his words to Reiyad.

That was when the song caught his ears, full and rich and wild, the voice unmistakably Ambryn's, only it seemed to be coming from everywhere. It took Nathiel a moment to realize the trees were carrying it, reverberating with each wordless tone as the melody rose and fell, soaring over high notes before skipping low again.

It was as if Nathiel passed into a whole other world, woven by the snow and the song and the trees, spun by the strange, fey creature he pursued, revealed beneath the quiet shell of a small, innocent, honey-haired mage that had concealed it.

It felt, he thought suddenly, like home.

He could sense his sabre running full out beneath him, straining in determined pursuit, and Nathiel wondered for an otherworldly moment if catching their prey was even possible. He leaned in lower until he was flat against the sabre's back, murmuring encouragement, willing his mount to go faster, his own heart thundering in his chest with the thrill of it.

The trail wove between trees, the hoofmarks and flung snow clear to Nathiel's eyes, and all at once the song gave out, reverberations dying, silence sweeping around him as the echoes fled beyond the range of his suddenly straining ears.

Nathiel felt a sickening moment of fear.

The sabre darted around a narrow twist, through a tight thicket, a crystal branch breaking off against Nathiel's right pauldron with a mournful tinkle, around another tight bend, and broke into a clearing.

Nathiel lifted his head, eyes searching, but his mount was already turning, springing sideways as big, furry pads slid in the snow, towards the north end of the clearing.

Ambryn was down one one knee, leaning over something - some_one_ Nathiel realized.

His sabre skidded to a halt next to the palomino, breathing hard.

The palomino just whickered.

"Nathiel." Ambryn's gaze came up.

Nathiel moved toward him, got a better look at who he was leaning over and what he was doing, and his vision went red.

Nathiel ripped Ambryn's wrist away from sin'dorei's mouth, the blue light between the elf's lips dying, bones creaking as Nathiel's booted foot came down on his chest. The point of his spear rested in a growing bead of blood on the blood elf's throat.

Ambryn had both hands on the spear haft. It took Nathiel a moment to realize he was speaking.

"Please, please, _please_ don't do this." The words were pleading, the jade eyes wide.

"He was fucking _feeding on you!_" Nathiel roared. He almost reached for Ambryn, but stopped, hand outstretched, quivering, because if he touched the human now, he wasn't sure what he'd do. He took a long, slow, deep breath, and looked back down at the sin'dorei.

The eyes, glowing with sickly green fel light, weren't looking at him. They were fixed on Ambryn, and there was a faint, tired smile on the ghostly pale features.

"It's okay, lovely angel," he said in common, voice a broken croak. "You've already rescued me. I can die now."

"Look at me," Nathiel snarled. "Look at _me_ you filthy life-sucking wretch!"

"Just do it. I'll take the sight of something beautiful with me when I die." The sin'dorei didn't so much as glance at him, eyes still fixed on Ambryn's face.

"Nathiel _please_, please don't _do_ this in cold blood!" Ambryn's tone was pleading, eyes wide.

"_Cold blood_?" Nathiel couldn't control the snarl that contorted his face. "My blood is _boiling_ right now, Ambryn! You were letting this sick fuck _feed_ on you like a goddamn _leech_!"

"He can't help it! He's starving! I didn't have any mana potions! There was no other way!" There were tears in Ambryn's eyes now, and they were like claws in Nathiel's heart, only intensifying the rage that roiled in him.

"It's okay angel. Just let it go." The sin'dorei's smile turned rueful. "Turn away though," he rasped. "I don't want you to have to see this."

Nathiel tipped up his spear, slammed the butt into the ground, knelt, and grabbed the dark red-haired sin'dorei by the front of his torn leather hauberk. He cast one furious look over his shoulder.

"Stay here," he snarled. "I'm going to give you something else to look at," Nathiel whispered into the sin'dorei's ear as he pulled him up and lifted him into the air, powerful muscles in his arm bunching. "It's not going to be nearly as pretty."

The faint smile didn't wane, the green-glowing eyes still looking over Nathiel's shoulder as he was carried deeper into the trees.

"You're a fool," the sin'dorei rasped after a few moments. "You're killing him inside. It's all there in his eyes." He closed his eyes. "If there's a next life, maybe I'll get a chance at what you're throwing away."

Nathiel let the words roll off him, heart turning to a dull black stone in his chest.

And then suddenly fingers were scrabbling at his hand, his wrist, the sin'dorei writhing with a desperate energy Nathiel couldn't believe.

"You've got to save him!" The sin'dorei rasped, eyes wide and staring, fixed once more over Nathiel's shoulder. "Turn around you stupid fuck! There's someone else coming! Turn around, Light damn you!"

The palomino let out a long, carrying whinny, and Nathiel felt icy fear form a crack through his hardened heart as he whirled. He dropped the sin'dorei and started sprinting.

Wolves broke from the trees, plunging through the snow, kicking it up in a white wake. The Orcish riders slowed and came to a halt in a semi-circle around Ambryn a respectful distance away, probably waiting for a spell.

"I am Ambryn Dellani, son of Ambassador Tybalt Dellani of the Kirin Tor." Nathiel was too afraid for Ambryn's safety to be proud of the fact that the human mage's voice didn't waver in the slightest.

One of the orcs glanced at the others, and tapped his wolf's ribs, edging forward. "I am Moktorb, Sub-Captain of the Crimson Axe and leader of this expedition. We have come to consult with the Kirin Tor." His Common wasn't great, but it was passable. Nathiel heard weapons drawn from sheaths as he emerged from the trees.

"Your escort, Ambryn Dellani?" Moktorb asked with a raised eyebrow, hand on the haft of his own axe.

"Yes." Ambryn nodded. "We were out for a ride, and came upon a blood elf male in extremely weak condition. We heard the sound of your approach and were uncertain of your . . . intentions, so I instructed my bodyguard to remove him from sight."

Moktorb conferred briefly with an orc on his left whose graying black hair was pulled back in braids, a dull bronze circlet on his brow hung with feathers and beads. "As a sign of good will, please allow us to escort you back to Dalaran," he called.

"If I might presume upon you further, would you see the blood elf to the Sun Reaver sanctuary?" Ambryn asked. "He suffers from the symptoms of what appears to be mana withdrawal, and we do not have the means to treat it."

Moktorb nodded after a moment. "We will be honored to assist you in this, Ambryn Dellani."

The ride back to Dalaran was, for Nathiel at least, a quiet one. Moktorb rode next to Ambryn on the opposite side of Nathiel, the orc with the bronze circlet on his left. The rest of the orcs rode a little ways behind, the blood elf carried in the arms of one female rider who didn't seem to mind the task in the slightest, giving him small sips from a vial of glowing blue mana and making cooing noises.

"I am surprised that you travel with so small an escort." Moktorb's eyes flicked to Nathiel and then back to Ambryn. "Your guardian must be remarkably capable."

"Extremely capable," Ambryn replied without a hitch in his voice, eyes facing forward.

"Nevertheless, I would say it is fortunate that we encountered each other," Moktorb continued.

"Indeed." Ambryn's lips quirked in a smile. "It would not do for guests of the Kirin Tor to wander lost about the Forest."

The orc on Moktorb's left let out a hooting laugh at that, Moktorb himself flushing a darker shade of green.

"It would not be thought so difficult to find a city that floats in the sky," he muttered. "We were on the right trail. Almost." He raised an eyebrow in Ambryn's direction as they neared the Violet Outpost. "You are pleasant company, for a human. I would not object to a meeting in the future."

Ambryn smiled graciously. "Nor would I, Sub-Captain Moktorb."

They parted from the orcs. Nathiel kept waiting for Ambryn to speak, to look at him, to give some sign of what he was thinking or feeling. The rage he'd felt in the forest had worn off, leaving regret stuck in his craw.

He unsaddled his mount, put away his tack, groomed the sabre's fur, paid the handlers for extra meat, and emerged to find Ambryn waiting for him outside.

The human's arms were folded across his chest, gaze distant, expression difficult to read. He looked up as Nathiel approached, and suddenly he was in Nathiel's arms.

"Please don't leave me," he whispered.

Nathiel's embrace tightened around him. "I should be the one begging you not to go," he murmured. "I was so . . . so _furious_. The thought of it still makes me angry, him _feeding_ on you like a vampire, I-"

"I'm sorry," Ambryn whispered, interrupting Nathiel's words, drowning out the memory of rage, looking up at him with tears in his jade eyes.

"Stop saying all the things I'm supposed to say," Nathiel complained, a rueful smile curving his lips. He lifted Ambryn's wrist to his lips, the one the sin'dorei had been sucking on, and kissed it, eyes squeezing shut. He looked down into Ambryn's jade eyes. "Forgive me, because I still can't forgive him."

"There's nothing you've done that needs forgiveness, Nathiel Highfury," Ambryn said, stretching up on his tiptoes.

Nathiel bent his head, kissed Ambryn long and hard and deep, drank him in like a drowning man drawing in air, needing him with every atom of his being. It was so hard, so _impossibly_ hard, not to drag him into that stable and bed him right there in an empty stall. And yet, he couldn't do it. He couldn't make their first time like that, just make-up sex in the form of a lust-driven roll in the hay. He wanted it to be a glorious beginning, heralding what would come after as even greater. He let Ambryn's mouth go.

"Let me take you to dinner tonight," he murmured into Ambryn's ear. "Let me make up for today."

Ambryn sighed. "I have Circle Work tonight," he said softly, leaning his head against Nathiel's breastplate. "Four nights this week. The last night is going to be six circles. We're reweaving part of one of the main axial enchantments. I'll be utterly useless the day after."

"How many mages are in a circle?" Nathiel asked, not really curious, but doing what he could to selfishly prolong the moment and keep Ambryn in his arms.

"A full circle?" Ambryn toyed with the edge of Nathiel's breastplate, running his finger along it. "Twenty-one. It's always in multiples of seven." He closed his eyes. "Ask me another question. I don't want to go."

"Alright." Nathiel felt a smile curve his lips. "Why seven?"

"It's a symbol as well as a number - it signifies fullness, completion, fulfillment."

Nathiel didn't ask any more questions, just leaned back against the wall and held on, bitterly resenting the time that they had to be apart even though it hadn't yet come. He looked up at the sky. It was barely yet noon, and already it felt as though the day was drawing to a close, a lonely night looming before him. He lowered his mouth back to Ambryn's for another desperate kiss, felt the human melt into him.

"Hello Nathiel." Belauq's rich voice was mildly amused.

Nathiel fought down the glare he wanted to shoot the other night elf with an effort, mentally damning him for interrupting. "Hello Belauq."

"Well?" Belauq folded his arms, dressed in a pale green, short-sleeved robe, left open to bare his slim, chiseled torso, long toned legs draped in black, loose leather trousers. Even in climate-controlled Dalaran the outfit was a little chilly for the current temperature. "Aren't you going to introduce me like you promised?"

Nathiel could see the curiosity on Ambryn's features, and his mouth tightened. "Ambryn, this is Belauq."

"We're old friends," Belauq interjected smoothly with a grin and a wink. "It's a pleasure to meet you Ambryn." He held out a hand.

Ambryn pulled off his glove a little awkwardly, still wrapped firmly in Nathiel's embrace, and shook his hand, smile shy. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Let me buy you lunch." Belauq's brief glance at Nathiel was faintly mischievous.

"Belauq." Nathiel's tone was barely better than a growl.

"You promised, remember?" Belauq arched an eyebrow. "I just want to chat."

Nathiel complied with ill grace as Belauq led them to a street café not too far away. He took a seat and promptly pulled Ambryn into his lap, giving the druid a warning look over the human's shoulder.

Belauq just smiled easily, drawing out the silence until a waiter had appeared and departed with their drink orders. "You've got Vir Aegeae all astir with speculation," he said at last. "Nath's been playing it very close to the vest – he's been quite secretive about the whole thing." He chuckled. "I get to be the first to meet you. I must say it's more of an honor than I was expecting."

"Thank you." Ambryn shifted in Nathiel's lap. The breath caught in Nathiel's throat as that soft rump slid over his crotch, stimulating something that really _didn't_ need stimulation right now. He wasn't even in Ambryn's apartment this time. The side of Ambryn's neck suddenly looked mouthwatering.

"Reiyad will be jealous that I got to meet you first, though he'd never admit it. He and Nathiel are like brothers." If he noticed the way Nathiel's lips closed on Ambryn's neck or the way the human's eyelids fluttered, it didn't show. "You know, you really _should_ meet the rest of the guild."

His words penetrated to Nathiel's desire-sodden brain. "What?"

"I said you should stop being selfishly rude and introduce him, Nath." Belauq's tone was still warm, but Nathiel knew him well enough to read the tiniest hint of irritation in his eyes. "I won't say anything until you're ready to of course, but it's really not fair to keep us all in the dark for so long."

The seating arrangement had been a bad idea, Nathiel reflected. He was too distracted by the sensation of Ambryn's luscious bottom right there above his cock, less than a quarter of an inch of fabric separating their flesh. His body agreed with him, shaft swelling further, burrowing down his pant leg.

"Right," he said absently, more interested in just how perfectly Ambryn fit in his lap, like he'd been designed with Nathiel's proportions in mind. "I'll get around to it." It'd be an even better fit without any clothes in the way. He knew humans worshiped the Light, but Elune surely must have had a hand somewhere in the making of this one.

"Wonderful!" Belauq smiled brightly, attention turning to Ambryn. "What's your schedule like in two days? Most of the guild should be here in Dalaran, and we've all been dying of curiosity to finally meet Nath's mysterious beauty."

Alarm bells rang dimly through Nathiel's mind, competing fiercely with the urge to slip a hand up Ambryn's shirt and tease a nipple. He struggled to force his attention back to the conversation, necessity just barely winning out over his desire to grind his hips slowly and gently against that sweet bottom. "Ambryn can't this week. He works in the Circles at night." Fevered fantasies of slipping into one of the towers, kidnapping Ambryn from the midst of robed figures, and carrying him off for lovemaking that would last all night were weaving themselves through Nathiel's brain.

"I do," Ambryn admitted, blushing.

Nathiel stared as the color drifted up from Ambryn's collar, admiring the rosy color.

"Well, how about next week?" Belauq persisted.

"I'm free for a couple of nights."

"I'm taking you out for dinner the first night after you've recovered from Circle work," Nathiel said quickly, staking his claim. "It'll have to be the following afternoon. Maybe . . ." He was having trouble focusing, because Ambryn had turned his head, and those soft, rose-colored lips were irresistible. He kissed them, slipped his tongue in past them, didn't see the waiter shoot them a scandalized glance.

"Maybe," he said as he broke the kiss, staring into Ambryn's dreamy jade eyes "the day after that."

"That sounds . . . awfully indefinite," Belauq drawled. "_Mattran wants to see you_," he added in Darnassian. "_Today._"

"_Of course_," Nathiel replied absently. He glanced around. "Did the waiter come back yet?"

"He said he'd be back with salads after you've had time to decide what you want off the menu." Belauq tapped the cafe's menu in silent emphasis, obviously well aware that Nathiel was looking at an entirely different menu and thinking about ordering the whole thing.

They somehow made it through the meal. Nathiel sucked the skin of each grape Ambryn put into his mouth before he pierced it with his teeth, in one instance quickly sucking a finger into his mouth as well. He was harder than granite, hotter than the Barrens at highsun, and he barely remembered Belauq was even there, making only desultory conversation.

Belauq paid the bill with good grace, as good as his word not to cause any trouble, and Nathiel was too busy keeping his hands on Ambryn as they got up to pay attention to the blatant evidence of his own arousal.

It wasn't until he saw Ambryn to his own door and they were walking down the street that he started to come to his senses. He almost turned around and went right back in.

"Nath." Belauq's tone was patient, and slightly amused as he grabbed the kal'dorei warrior by the arm. "Judging by the way he was staring at you and letting you fondle him, I don't think he'd object to you coming back, but I'd rather not have the city fall out from under us because you wore him out."

"Yeah." Nathiel finally glanced down at himself.

Belauq pulled him into an alley and knelt in front of him.

"Belauq!" Nathiel protested, grabbing the other kal'dorei's hands.

"I know you want him, and so do you. If it'll make you feel better, you can pretend it's him." Belauq looked up at him and jerked his chin at the thick bar in Nathiel's pants. "Do you really want to walk in with that thing announcing to everyone that you're hornier than a spring hare?"

"No, but-"

"Nath." Belauq's tone remained reasonable. "You aren't promised to each other yet, and you'll be doing him a favor if you don't rip him open out of crazed lust. Let me blow you. You get off, I get to say goodbye to the big guy – everybody wins."

Nathiel looked down at him, at a loss for words. Belauq didn't wait for a reply, fingers working Nathiel's fly, shoving down his pants and closing around his freed cock with practiced expertise. His mouth closed around the head of Nathiel's iron-hard penis, warm, wet, hot, and familiar.

Nathiel almost came right then and there.

And yet, it was the trip back from Valgarde all over again.

He could do this. It would be so easy.

He didn't want to.

Nathiel pulled his cock out of Belauq's mouth, shoved it back into his trousers, knelt, and kissed Belauq gently on the forehead.

"_I'm sorry_," he murmured in Darnassian.

The golden eyes closed, the illusion of unconcern in Belauq's expression shattering. "_You're in love with him. You're already in _love_ with him, _Nath_._" The words were hopeless.

"Bel, _you don't mean any less to me_." Nathiel let his forehead rest against the other kal'dorei's. "_But I don't want this with anyone but him_. _I'm sorry, but it's true. I think of this, and it . . . it feels . . ._"

"_Cheap. Easy. Like drinking a beer._" Belauq pulled back and wiped the tears out of his eyes.

"_No._" Nathiel shook his head, fingers curving around the back of Belauq's neck. "_It doesn't feel fair. I could do this, but I wouldn't want Ambryn any less, and it wouldn't change anything between us. It's not fair to him. But it's also not fair to you._"

"_Why haven't you made love to him yet?_" Belauq asked, point-blank.

Nathiel didn't flinch from the question. He smiled ruefully. "_I almost did this morning. Then I opened my stupid mouth and asked him if he wanted to go for a ride. I was too embarrassed to tell him that the ride I was talking about didn't involve leaving his couch. So we ended up riding through Crystalsong, saving a mana-starved sin'dorei that he stopped me from killing, and showing a group of orc emissaries the way to Dalaran."_

Belauq's eyebrows rose, a smile curving his lips. "_You cock-blocked yourself._"

"_Yes._" Nathiel glanced up at the sky. "_I'll be regretting it for a week now._"

"Well," Belauq sighed in common, eyes dropping. "At least the big guy has gone back to sleep."

Nathiel glanced down and saw that Belauq was right. He smirked sourly. "Let's go see Mattran."

As usual, Mattran had foregone the chair behind his massive desk in favor of the desk itself. The gnome priest lay on top of the polished mahogany, heels in the air, studying reports through his spectacles, a frown on his features, utterly unmindful of his dignity. His jet-black hair stood straight up in jagged spikes and he had a pen in one ink-splotched hand.

He glanced up as the door to his office opened, giving a brief two-finger salute as the two night elves entered before returning his attention to the papers spread out in front of him.

"The whole guild is just buzzing over the fact that you seem to have found yourself a mate finally," he said bluntly. "When's the wedding?"

"Haven't picked a date yet; gotta ask him first," Nathiel said easily, accustomed to Mattran's informal approach to tackling anything that came his way.

"Haven't bedded him yet either, apparently," Mattran commented. "Don't tell me you've decided on this one to finally wait until you've got the ring on his hand either - you reek of lust. He must be some cocktease."

"It was my fault actually," Nathiel admitted bluntly. He knew Mattran would only dig deeper if he deflected the question.

The gnome grunted. "Orcs came to Dalaran today. They're making an inquiry with the Kirin Tor. Probably about whatever's been raping the shit out of their Warsong outpost in Ashenvale. Lots of dead Horde. They got good reason to be scared if what I've heard about the casualty lists is true. According to Tyrande, the Night Elves are supposedly uninvolved, and some of them are even blaming the orcs for unleashing whatever it is on themselves. The Horde isn't in much of a position to do anything about it either apparently."

Nathiel dismissed the news. Anything that was killing off the loggers in the ancient forest was a good thing in his opinion. "What about the vrykul we encountered?"

"Haven't figured that one out yet," Mattran said, rubbing his chin, oblivious to the ink he was getting on his face. "Might be related to the disappearance of a few caravans in the area."

"You think the vrykul have stepped up their raiding?" Reiyad asked as he entered, tossing a quick nod in Nathiel's direction.

"The sudden upsurge in presence is too sudden, and their raiding bands are smaller. I'd say they got stung too and they're hunting the perp." Mattran signed the bottom of whatever he was looking at and stamped it before setting it aside, picking up the next document. He squinted. "Some of the caravan survivors were blaming undead. Whether it was Forsaken or Scourge I don't know, but Icecrown Citadel has been quiet lately. Makes me think it's more likely the former than the latter."

"We have a job?" Reiyad asked without preamble.

"We're going to sit tight," Mattran replied. "Keep running the usual Alliance escorts unless we get a job offer from the Kirin Tor. We don't get paid to be proactive." He turned his head, regarding Nathiel over his spectacles. "That reminds me. I've had a few inquiries about you, people asking specifically for your services."

"I'm not-"

"I fed them the usual about the guild allocating resources appropriately in proportion to the request." Mattran cut Nathiel off with a wave. "If there's one thing you're not, it's charming enough to get a repeat customer to ask for you specifically, which means I need to find out what's going on." He stamped the report, signed it, and set it aside. "I don't want your ass riding line anyway until you've squared away your balls. Fuck him and put a ring on it. I'm moving you out of the short list." He sat up and grinned. "Come shake my hand, sport. It's about damn time."

"He's going to come meet us a week from today," Belauq said as Nathiel shook hands with the gnome, the two of them grinning broadly. "I think you'll be very pleasantly surprised."

"Snaggled him into it did ya?" Mattran said, reaching for a cigar from the box on one side of his desk, legs dangling several feet above the carpet. "Smooth." He offered another cigar to Nathiel who shook his head. Mattran shrugged. "You're smoking a stogie with me at the wedding then," he ordered. "And I'm officiating."

"Only if you can do it without swearing," Nathiel retorted without missing a beat.

"Fuck, get one of your priestesses then," Mattran muttered as he lit the end of the cigar. "Me, I'm going to celebrate you finally getting your shit squared away."

Nathiel smirked at his diminutive employer. "I'll make sure there's plenty of bourbon."

Ж

Ambryn let out a sigh as the door closed behind him, leaning back against it, because in spite of everything that had happened that day, he wanted more than anything else for Nathiel to come walking back through that door, kiss him senseless, and finish what they'd started this morning.

He wasn't afraid of that anymore. Fear had away ebbed last night, there in Nathiel's arms, and safe, warm, and secure, he'd woken in them still, found Nathiel waiting for him, warm and so gloriously hard. No, he wasn't afraid of that.

He smiled helplessly, staring up at the ceiling. The outburst of violence there in the forest should have appalled him, and in a way, it had. Yet despite that towering rage, Nathiel hadn't lifted a finger to him, hadn't hurt him, the rage itself evoked by his fear for Ambryn's safety.

Ambryn had fallen deeper at the realization.

His gaze went to the couch where it sat in front of the window, the noonday sun no longer shining inward, and he felt the memory of delicious heat pool between his legs once more. He walked slowly over and laid his head down on the cushions, the lingering scent of Nathiel's presence only worsening the ache that filled him.

Why in the name of all that was holy had he had to pick _that_ particular moment to suggest going for a ride in the snow?

Ambryn let out another sigh, lips pursing in irritation.

Granted, he'd perversely enjoyed seeing the stunned expression on Nathiel's handsome, normally flawlessly composed features when Maywind had responded eagerly to Ambryn's signal, and it _had_ been a while since he'd been out. It had been glorious to feel the wind in his hair again, feel a song bursting from his heart, but then . . .

Ambryn had never thought he'd be grateful for orcs, but their arrival had been nothing less than perfectly timed, as unintentional as it had been. Still, he would have forgiven Nathiel eventually, he knew, even after that. Deep inside, he couldn't have held out. The night elf was already too deep in him.

No, it wasn't coming together that frightened Ambryn anymore.

It was the bone-deep realization that he couldn't be apart from Nathiel when he could still count their meetings on both hands that truly terrified him now.

Ж

A lonely troll in ill-fitting garb slogged through the snow, muttering under his breath.

Once again cold, aching, and tired, K'dzok was bitterly regretting ever coming to Northrend. Sure, the pay was better, and there were plenty of humans to debauch, but it was frigid, dangerous, and getting ahold of the aforementioned humans would be damned near impossible now that he was an acknowledged criminal in Dalaran.

The fucking continent had also brought about the end of his career, and with no job, there was no money. It wasn't that there weren't other ways to get money, and it wasn't as though he hadn't left a few bodies in the ditch in his time, but living life staying one step ahead of the law was tiring, dangerous, and it damned sure wasn't his preference.

K'dzok needed to get off this frozen rock.

At least until he could come back and burn it from one coast to the other.

Before he could do either though, he needed to figure out where exactly Hieronymus had sent him. He rounded a cliff, searching the horizon, and his breath nearly froze in his throat.

Icecrown Citadel loomed in the distance, cold-gleaming spires reaching towards the clouds like spears aimed at the belly of heaven, forbidding and deathly.

The Lich King had been quiet lately, the Scourge seemingly dormant for the moment, but that didn't stop cold fear from sinking into K'dzok's gut like a knife of ice. He needed to head south, and he needed to be fast.

Of course, he also needed to figure out which _way_ was south. K'dzok studied the horizon, looked up at the sun, shielding his eyes with one clawed, pale green hand, and cursed violently in Zul'Amani, because the Citadel lay directly across his path to the Dragonsblight. It would take a miracle for him to make it past without being spotted and promptly mauled by something with frozen blood as dead as the snowy waste around him.

Ж

It had become semi-customary for Annatta to meet Ambryn at his apartment, and they'd walk to Periont's Tower together. It was a little out of Annatta's way, but only a little, and she needed to keep close tabs on Ambryn anyway. He was the key to her ambitions after all.

Of course, it didn't hurt that she'd come to genuinely enjoy his company, the quiet, easy talks as they walked through Dalaran's darkening streets in the evening, their arms linked, no pressure between them.

She could tell the instant he opened the door that something was wrong. He looked distracted, and not in the faintly dreamy way that thoughts of Nathiel brought. That dreamy expression was one she'd come to know well, talking about Nathiel with him, and a small part of her basked vicariously in the reflected warmth of his affection for the night elf. She'd caught herself wishing he would think of her that way, and banished the thought instantly. He wasn't even the type of muscley, brawny male she had idolized as a young girl and then as a young woman, wasn't overly graceful or lithely handsome like the males of her own kind.

But he was soft, and warm, and welcoming, and kind, and good to the core of his soul.

Annatta shook her own thoughts off, smiling gently at him, and after a moment he smiled back at her.

It wasn't hard to draw conclusions. Nathiel was supposed to return today. Had something gone wrong? Was he delayed? Annatta bit back the questions. She didn't want to rush. It wouldn't appear natural. She waited until they were alone in the lift.

Ambryn looked at her, his heart in his eyes, only it wasn't the brilliant glow from before, the first blush of attraction that had made him shine like a star.

Annatta listened, brow furrowing, let him collect his thoughts in silence as they walked through the lobby and out into the street, and listened to the rest.

Her first urge was to hunt Nathiel down and hit him. Not the cool, stiff reprimand of a palm-to-cheek slap either. She wanted to back-hand him, knock him down, sit on his chest, and shake him until he saw sense, curse him for wasting all of her careful efforts to remind Ambryn of him at just the right moments, build him up ever so subtly in the human's eyes, make sure that Ambryn's eagerness still burned high.

The dumb bastard was threatening to ruin her carefully laid plans.

And then Ambryn made an admission that stopped her there in the street.

"I love him," Ambryn said softly, despairingly, and then he'd cried into her shoulder like they were lifelong best friends instead of acquaintances who'd only relatively recently become more. On the one hand it meant her plan was working, almost _too_ well in fact. On the other, a slightly guilty part of her was reminding her harshly that this was at least partly her fault.

Because she'd seen it in his face. It wasn't a puppy-dog infatuation. It wasn't something that would pass. It was real, and it scared her out of her wits. So she held him, and patted him on the back, and somehow, miraculously, that was enough on her part to enable him to pull herself back together.

"Well," she said, half to herself. "There's no turning back now."

Ambryn just looked at her for a moment, a half-sad, half-brilliant, slightly delirious smile on his features. "No," he said, wiping his eyes with a handkerchief she'd happened to have handy. "I suppose there isn't."

The guilt redoubled. Annatta kneed it in the belly, pulled its cloak over its head, delivered a stiff right hook to the disoriented bundle, and shoved it into a closet with a thick door and a strong lock. She was doing this for _both_ their sakes, she reminded it haughtily from outside its imprisonment, and for the sake of quel'dorei everywhere. If necessary, and worse _had_ come to worse, she even would have sided with the kal'dorei warrior. After all, these _sin'dorei,_ as they styled themselves, were corrupt by their own admission.

Her guilt tried to fight its way out of the closet. She didn't yield, and eventually it subsided, exhausted by its futile struggles to be free.

Ambryn's glow was present once more as the Circle wove its spells over Dalaran, not bright and bubbly like before, though a part of that vivacity remained, but a deeper, steadier inner radiance.

Somehow, sensing it, knowing what it signified, it made Annatta want to cry.

Ж

Mop and broom stand together in the corner

Their worn heads lean against each other

Sometimes one or the other will be whisked away

They will do business in another part of the house

But always they return

Sunrises, sunsets, they fall on them together

Always together

Mop and broom stand together in the corner

Inseparable.

Hector let the book fall closed, staring up at the ceiling as he waited in the lobby of Ambryn's apartment building. The leather binding, lovingly maintained, the crisp paper that still smelled of the flower petals tucked between their pages - they were as familiar to him as his own hands despite the years since he'd touched them last.

He'd seen them together, seen Ambryn wrapped in the night elf's arm. The thought made his blood boil. Worse still had been the way that Ambryn looked up at him, eyes for no one else, not even Hector, standing five feet away on a street corner, blue eyes burning.

Hector knew Ambryn, knew that the moment he wiped away that innocence, cleaved that love with his blade, he would lose Ambryn forever. It didn't matter. He'd held the memory of Ambryn in his heart for seven long years, waiting for the day when Tybalt Dellani's long shadow would lose its potency at last. That time was now. Ambryn was ripe, more lovely and more desirable than ever.

Hector would persevere. The love in his heart would not wane.

He wasn't planning anything dramatic. He'd simply say that he couldn't sleep, which was true enough, leave Ambryn with the book, a brief touch on the arm, and then a quick departure. He was playing for the highest stakes, and he was determined not to lose. His most potent weapon was a flimsy, fragile thing of paper and leather and ink. Hector knew as well as he knew the inside of Ambryn's soul that it would be a potent weapon indeed.

His smile was cool and calculating.

Ж

A ship set sail on the evening tide in distant Auberdine, manned by night elves, its sleek lines and pale gray wood vanishing into the deepening dusk.

Ж

Unearthly red-glowing eyes shone in the darkness like demon lanterns glimpsed out of the Nether. Her tattered dress flapped around her legs, cold gray flesh gleaming beneath the moon as she stood on a slim, wavering pine bough that threatened to give at any moment beneath her weight, trembling in the wind.

Campfires spat ash into that wind, dotting the hillsides like stars fallen to earth, sullen and temperamental at their loss of stature, snapping at the massive figures that huddled around them.

Nabniath twirled, laughing wildly, her precarious perch threatening at any moment to send her tumbling to the ground far below. It was a beautiful night, the stars that yet remained in heaven twinkling in their haughteur. They drew close about the moon like children crowding at the skirts of their mother, their glow seeming to dim as her wild joy rode the chill wind across the hills.

The song was distant now, but Nabniath would find it. She would seek it out, twist it into darkly glorious perfection. She would find the singing troll, and his madness would ring in her ears for all eternity. She would complete him, make him whole. She would save him.

But first, she would save others.

Dead flesh moved, shifted, frozen limbs stiff and hoary with frost. Brush snapped. Dead, glazed, lifeless eyes stared forward into the night, into nothingness from out of nothingness, towards the fallen stars that burned in the hills and the poor heart-ridden, blood-enslaved beasts that trembled uneasily around them.

Nabniath's lips drew back from her teeth in a fierce smile, a smile that split the broad, bloodstained mouth of the magnataur at the head of her apostles, her missionaries.

She had brought war to heaven.

Ж

* * *

**Author's Post-script Notes:**

For those of you who have read all the way to the bottom and plan on reading more, thanks.

To those of you who have posted reviews (all three of you) greater thanks, and I appreciate you taking the time.

I find it remarkably interesting that a story that totaled over one thousand hits last month alone has only 9 reviews.

9.

Go figure.

Oh, and I know my summary blows. Suggestions would be much appreciated.


	8. Act I Scene VII: Of Frost and Rabbits

**Author's Notes:**

The majority of this next chapter is going to feature K'dzok and Nabniath. For those of you who've forgotten over the course of the last two chapters, this means blood, madness, and disturbing imagery. You have been warned.

I'm not late. A wizard is never late. He arrives precisely when he means to.

. . .

Okay, maybe I _am_ a _little_ late, but you only had to wait a week between the last two updates.

* * *

Ж

Act I Scene VII

Of Frost and Rabbits

K'dzok grunted as he swung the limb, the twisted, knotted wood torn from the trunk of a somehow still-living tree, and snarled in savage satisfaction as it smashed a frost-covered, half-rotted skull to flinders. The undead knight staggered back, off-balance, two-handed sword in one hand, and K'dzok brought the limb down again, frozen flesh and bone giving way beneath the augmented strength of his right arm.

K'dzok reached down absently, grabbed a handful of disturbed snow, and packed it onto his shoulder, grimacing faintly at the sound of it hissing as it melted from the heat.

They'd been standing in a loose group, staring in the other direction when he approached. They didn't turn on him until he'd brought his make-shift club down on the first one, flattening it, and then they'd turned, attacking.

K'dzok had made full use of his weapon's range and his own power, smashing them to pieces.

They had fallen quickly to him.

He snatched up the tattered cloak from the once-again-dead knight's corpse and threw it over his own shoulders atop the scratchy, woolen thing he'd been given by the goblins of K3, ignoring the bloodstains. He wrangled the broken body out of its rather rusted but still usable mail as well after a moment It was a little tight across his chest, but he could wear it, and it was better than the ill-fitting boiled leather breastplate and leggings he had now. He left the sword where it was, not trusting the blue runes that spidered around the base of the blade, eschewing it in favor of a thoroughly ordinary halberd with a chipped blade that one of the undead's decomposing subordinates had been sporting.

A little to his surprise, a few of the corpses actually had gold. K'dzok was willing to wager it had been there since the day they'd left their first lives behind to enter their second. A smile curved his tusked mouth. The day was looking up already.

He pulled the hood of the knight's cloak up over his bright red hair, gathered it around him, and moved on.

The sky was overcast, but Icecrown was a landmark more than sufficient to tell him in which direction he was headed, a hellish marker in this icy winterscape. The sky had turned overcast, but the clouds yielded no snow, as though they'd come simply to glower at the Lich King's Citadel. K'dzok never looked directly at it, preferring to simply keep it to his right as he skirted it, giving the place a wide berth.

By nightfall he was still alive. His miracle had, it seemed, come to pass, though he wondered what hand had delivered it. Heironymus's perhaps. K'dzok scowled at the thought, tucking his cloaks deeper in around himself. He pulled out the golden coins, studying them by the light of his fire, and smirked as he recognized the face of High King Terenas.

His gaze went south. Once he reached the Dragonblight he would go southwest, to Agmar's Hammer, and from there fly to Venomspite and then New Agamand. From there, he need only reach Vengeance Landing. A zeppelin would take him the rest of the way to Tirisfal Glades.

He doubted the few paltry coins he'd taken from the Scourge guards would be enough for the trip. It didn't matter. He would get more.

He was up and moving before the sun the next morning, trotting across the snow to get his blood going. His belly was empty, and he felt it. The sooner he got down out of Icecrown Glacier the better.

He didn't hesitate this time when he came on another group of Scourge, these too staring southward, seemingly unaware of his presence until he hewed into them with the halberd. These undead were ragged, barely more than brittle bones that shattered beneath the halberd's sweeps. None of them had any gold or anything else worth taking.

K'dzok grimaced and continued south, stomach growling.

It was late that day, almost dusk, when he came upon his second piece of luck. He didn't even see it at first, slipping into a small dead-ended hollow surrounded on three sides by rock, thinking only of finding a place to wait out another cold, hungry night.

He heard it, a snuffling, scratching, grumbling noise, rounded the rock, and spotted the boar. It was digging up a tough, nettlesome plant by the roots with its blunt tusks, not sensing him until he was almost on top of it. It was covered in thick fur, long hair dragging to the ground, and it whirled abruptly, spiny branches still protruding from its mouth, small, red eyes blood-shot. It let out an angry squeal, spitting needles and saliva, and pawed the frozen ground.

K'dzok drove the point of the halberd through the thick skull and into the beast's brain with a single thrust of his right arm. The meat was tough and half-seared, but it tasted damn good, and his belly had no complaints. He had no scruples about using the knight's cloak to wrap the rest of the meat once he'd finished butchering the animal, and he slept well.

He passed through the broken Wrathgate the next day, cast a look at the ruined remnants of the Horde and Alliance camps left over from the war, and hurried onward.

Three more days found him staring across the snow at Agmar's Hammer, the last of the boar gone yesterday, his stomach once again growling, temper foul with hunger. He didn't enter. Not yet.

And then there they were, three of them, an orc with a massive axe across one shoulder in thick black armor, a troll hunter in leather and mail, javelins on his back, black hair pulled back in dreadlocks, and another orc, some sort of robed spellcaster, probably a warlock judging by his black and red garb.

They hailed him with only a modicum of wariness as he neared. They were confident. K'dzok smiled. That was good.

He was ever so slightly disappointed that the troll was still staring at him when the halberd tore through his green throat and took off the top half of the orc spellcaster's skull. The warrior was much more savvy. He danced back, swinging his axe, keeping K'dzok at bay. He glanced over his shoulder. K'dzok's eyebrows rose, and he stepped back, settling the butt of his halberd on the snow.

The warrior's eyes went to his companions' bodies. He turned and ran.

The flung halberd tangled his heavily armored legs and he went down in a heap. K'dzok was on top of him in a heartbeat. Bone snapped and popped as he latched his hands around the orc's neck and twisted. He patted the orc's cheek fondly, those wide eyes staring up at him glazing over in death, and took his knee off the orc's armored back.

Maybe he hadn't been so savvy after all.

K'dzok would have liked to have taken the axe. It was a thing of beauty, well-forged and powerful, obviously well-cared for, blade polished, edge clean. The armor, likewise, was well-taken care of. Unfortunately it was all recognizable, especially since this little band had left the outpost only a little over an hour and a half ago. Still, K'dzok found that the gold in their pockets, while not exactly bounteous, still brought a smile to his face, along with a few other trinkets he collected from their corpses before burying them under a thin layer of snow.

They didn't have to stay hidden long, just long enough.

Humming tunelessly, he strolled into Agmar's Hammer. A half hour later, belly full of hot food, he was winging his way towards Venomspite on the back of a wyvern, wrapped in a new, much-thicker cloak, and pondering the distinct lack of frozen amber eyes he'd encountered among the locals. It was as if Heironymous had suddenly lost interest. It wasn't a thought K'dzok found he minded. What had the human been yammering about again? Something about being damned?

It all seemed like a bad dream now.

By the time he'd had dinner and toppled into the bed in his room at the inn, his only thoughts were of pale skin, green eyes, and how much he'd like to ride a pretty human. Too bad all the humans here were ugly and dead . . . well, he amended, _un_dead, which really wasn't much of an improvement. He closed his eyes, and dreamed of soft, pale, warm flesh and rosy lips.

Well-provisioned and comfortably accoutered, he flew all the next day, high above the rolling Grizzly Hills, let the wyvern keep watch while he slept, and made New Agamand in the Howling Fjord by nightfall of the following day. It was full of more creepy Forsaken, not a one of the walking corpses remotely attractive and only a few of them bearable to even look at.

A plan was beginning to percolate in the back of K'dzok's mind. Mainland Azeroth was full of humans. Who was to say he couldn't kidnap one, or two, or however many he liked on a raid? And if they happened to have rich, brown golden hair like spun honey that gleamed in the sun and jade eyes . . . K'dzok smiled. He could find some robes somewhere. It'd make ripping them off all the more enjoyable.

The last leg of the trip to Vengeance Landing was a matter of a half hour of flight, no more. K'dzok grinned broadly as the zeppelin tower came into sight, one of the great, big, gaseous goblin bags and its underslung carriage already moored beside it. By nightfall he'd be out over the ocean, Northrend miles behind him, on his way back to a life of raiding.

When he stopped and thought about it, going to back to Azeroth was something he really should have done a long time ago.

He took a deep breath, turned to the northwest, towards the heart of Northrend, spat, and lifted his middle finger.

"Fuck you," he muttered. "Fuck all of you."

He wasn't the first, and doubtless wouldn't be the last to make that gesture.

"K'dzok."

K'dzok didn't turn immediately, kept his motions slow, grip tightening on the haft of the halberd he still carried with him.

She was a blood elf, her eyes bright green with fel power, skin pale. Her golden skirt was slit up to the knee, long black leather boots clinging to her slim legs, her rose-colored blouse with its fur lining hugging her shoulders, leaving their tops bare. Her blond hair was a soft, pale gold cascade over her shoulder, trailing down to her bosom. She smiled, her hands resting on her curving hips.

K'dzok's eyes narrowed. "What do you want, elf whore?"

"Oh, now don't be like that." She pouted, but the green glow in her eyes only brightened. "I've traveled so far to meet you."

K'dzok moved, halberd swinging, and his body, his whole _world_ convulsed around him, as though reality itself were having a fit. Everything vibrated sickeningly and he collapsed onto his belly, muscles spasming, everything gone suddenly, strangely _gooey_.

The world went dark.

He realized after a moment that he was breathing in the darkness, his heart thundering in his chest with fear. What had the elven bitch _done_ to him?

He opened his mouth and let out a shrill, piercing shriek, and immediately shut it, eyes widening.

Fabric and mail rolled back and he tumbled onto hard ground, the impact bruising, leaving him momentarily stunned. An enormous hand grabbed him by the skin at the back of his neck, lifting, and he looked into the elven giantess's colossal, yet still delicately lovely face as she combed blond hair back over one sharply pointed ear and smiled at him.

"Aww," she murmured. "Who's the cute, precious little bunny-wunny rabbit-wabbit? It's _you_ - yes you are, _yes_ you _are_," she babbled in a baby voice.

K'dzok couldn't help the second shrill squeal that erupted from his throat.

"What a _pretty_ shade of red," said another breathy voice just like the first. "It's almost a shame to turn him over to Mraugon."

K'dzok glanced down in sickening horror at himself, caught sight of two dangling paws covered in bright red fur, and his bladder let go. The two elven women squealed, but all he got was a rough shake, and then he only had time for one more high-pitched scream before he was plunged into the rough darkness of a canvas sack.

He was trembling when they opened it, covered in his own filth, unable to control himself, heart pounding the entire time despite his attempts to calm himself, something inside of him bursting into panic every time he though about what was outside the confines of this burlap bag.

He felt the sack open at last, scrabbled at the rough fabric, struggling to dig in his claws to escape, and a large hand closed completely around him, painfully hard. He could feel his bones grinding, muscles crushing. He could barely breathe.

He was lifted out, and the late afternoon sun lit the face of Mraugon, the tauren regarding him thoughtfully, expression on his ochre-patterned face slightly pensive.

"You almost slipped . . . down the rabbit hole, K'dzok." A hint of a smile pulled at the corner of the tauren shaman's mouth. "That would have been awkward."

K'dzok's only response was to tremble, furry little body panicking all over again. He would have voided his bowels but for the fact that they were already empty. A part of him shrieked in incoherent rage at the fear that threatened to drown him, fighting the feeble instincts of this soft, tiny body to which he was confined. He battered against it, wanting nothing more than to be himself so he could punch his fist into Mraugon's chest and rip out his heart.

"You've fucked up again, K'dzok." Mraugon continued, fingers tightening, forcing the air out of K'dzok's tiny lungs. "You were supposed to kill Skinslayer. Instead, he's stepped up his raids in Wintergrasp. Undoon is extremely disappointed."

_Undoon can fuck himself_, K'dzok wanted to snarl. All he could do was struggle just to breathe. Abruptly K'dzok's grip relaxed, still secure, but no longer crushing.

"We're going to give you to Ambassador Dellani. He's going to have your guts torn out." K'dzok raised his great brows slightly. "Honest truth K'dzok, I thought you were going to pull it off." He brought K'dzok closer, until he could smell the overwhelming odor of the tauren's breath. "Once, I admired you for your ability to get the job done, no matter the cost. In fact, I even envied you. You never let anything get in your way." He smirked. "But look how . . . _small_ you've become."

K'dzok's shriek this time was less fear and more fury as the burlap sack closed over him once more.

Ж

Mraugon's gaze dropped to the burlap sack that hung from his kodo's saddle, lashed to the horn by a length of rope. Undoon wasn't the only one who'd been disappointed. That the elven witch sisters had taken the troll so easily – it made Mraugon's teeth ache from _not_ grinding.

He hadn't lied about once looking up to K'dzok. They never should have been able to get the drop on him. He remembered the deathly creature of carnage who had slaughtered everything and everyone in his path, meted out incalculable cruelty on his enemies, until his name spread far and wide, inspiring fear.

He could have been great.

His vices had weakened him, and eventually consumed him.

Mraugon resisted the urge to punch the burlap bag until every last tiny bone was broken and the polymorphed troll in a rabbit's pathetic rose-furred body was nothing but a viscous goop seeping through the rough-woven fabric.

As if sensing his frustration and rage, the tiny form inside the bag had remained utterly still since the moment he'd hung it on his saddle.

A scent made his nostrils flare, and he drew up his kodo, yanking the reins hard enough to make the beast groan in protest.

It wasn't the scent of death that brought him up short, but the icy, burning edge of the odor that told him that the flesh wasn't merely rotted. He looked around. The sun had gone down a half hour ago. The moon hadn't yet crested the needle-leafed trees that stood thick beside this part of the road. He raised a fist, and his eyes widened.

"To arms!" he roared. "_To arms!_"

For a moment there was clamor as warriors drew swords and axes, let out bloodcurdling war cries, beat on their shields with their spears, mages and shamans chanting, readying their first battle spells. Gradually it died into confused silence.

The column roiled, settled, and Steel Sheen mercenaries glanced around, looking for the enemy.

Mraugon ignored the glances both uncertain and scathing that shot his way, waiting for the tiniest blur of motion that would give their ambushers away. A moment tiptoed by, and then another followed after in a slightly less timid slide.

The road erupted beneath them in a flurry of massive, grasping hands, swinging enormous axes and swords and maces or simply grabbing onto whatever was closest, the very road boiling with unnatural life, parts of it collapsing around the vrykul as they shifted their huge, ragged, rotting bodies and stood erect.

Later Mraugon would admire the tactic.

Right now he was too busy trying to survive.

He reached out for the sack holding K'dzok, and his kodo let out a groan as a massive spearhead thrust into its chest, tumbling sideways. Mraugon had an instant to fling himself out of the saddle as the beast was toppled onto its back, rolling to a stop in front of a pair of massive feet.

A pair of dead, glazed eyes looked down at him, and he saw a gleam wake in them, the reflected light of the moon as it crested the treetops. His thunderbolt tore a smoking hole in the giant corpse's chest, and it staggered backward, swung mace coming down inches away from Mraugon's nose. The tauren stepped back, looking toward the kodo, and darted toward the burlap bag that had tumbled free and lay a small distance away.

Trees trunks splintered with a bone-deep, reverberating groan that Mraugon could feel in his marrow, the ground trembling once more as the magnataur appeared, knocking him to his knees. Mage fire shrieked in the night, a brilliant torrent of yellow-orange flame as it smashed into the beast's chest.

Mraugon glanced over one shoulder, and rolled aside as the undead vrykul's massive mace hit hard enough to send up a plume of dust and earth where he'd just been. He had his hand wrapped around the bag of bones that were his talismans, each carefully shaped over seasons, each carrying nascent power. His lips shaped a whispering invocation to the spirits of the earth beneath him.

The mace came down, and was knocked aside by a fist of granite as the elemental flowed upward from the ground. Mraugon left the magical servant to continue the fight for him, and searched for the creature controlling the undead. If he could just figure out _who_ . . .

And then she was there, wrapped in the tattered remains of what might have been a gown or even a shroud, one withered breast bare to the night, her arms outspread to either side as she balanced her way down the trunk of a shattered tree, placing one foot in front of the other, heedless of the chaos around her, the cloud of her hair wavering in the wind.

Her gaze came up and she paused, a smile on her pale, gray face, ruby light blazing within the death-glazed eyes.

Mraugon called on the spirits, and thunder rumbled and rolled as it gathered around his hands in blazing, crackling electric blue fury.

The forsaken woman, for she could be nothing else, spun a graceful pirouette, gesturing with one hand, and a massive, rotting palm intercepted the course of the thunderbolt, fresh blood illuminated briefly in the crackling light before crisping away with the blackening flesh.

She gestured again.

Mraugon's eyes widened as the magnataur drew back its burned hand, grabbed an unlucky tauren, and flung the mercenary right at him.

Mraugon dropped flat to the earth as the other flew over his head and landed with a crunch of broken bones, and then he was scuttling sideways, trying desperately to regain his footing as the massive undead colossus charged him.

He dove between a vrykul's legs, rolled, already calling once more on the spirits.

The magnataur swatted the animated vrykul corpse out of the way almost impatiently, hitting it hard enough to send it rolling into a band of orcs who were trying to establish a solidified point of resistance, and Mraugon's hastily conjured wolf spirits leapt, fangs bared, clawing and biting at the monstrosity's throat.

Two massive hands came up, ripped them away, and smashed them into the ground, both glimmering ethereal spirits vanishing with hollow booms as they discorporated.

It was enough.

Mraugon called upon his most devastating magic.

The spirits, already deep in turmoil, answered.

The earth cracked wide, a jagged maw stretching open in its face, and spewed lava into the frigid night air, a massive plume of molten earthen fury roaring forth. Orcs, trolls, tauren, blood elves, goblins – those still alive and too close to the magnataur, had only a moment to scream, and then their flesh was bubbling as lava devoured them along with the undead.

The magnataur didn't quit despite the fact that it was ruined and in flames, staggering forward into that molten spout, still trying to reach Mraugon even as rotted flesh, muscle, and bone all burned and bubbled and turned to ash.

Mraugon looked for the corpse of his kodo by the lurid light of glowing magma, the Steel Sheen mercenaries continuing to fight on around him.

She lifted the burlap bag almost tenderly, folding her arms around it, glowing red eyes seeing nothing else.

Mraugon's thunderbolt vanished through the space where she'd been just a fraction of a heartbeat too late, tearing through the glimmering streamers of ethereal light that signaled her magical departure.

Jaw clenched with fury, Mraugon turned his attention to rallying his beleaguered troops.

Ж

Nabniath could hear it, a deep, thrumming rumble, like the warning of a storm on the horizon, emanating from the small sack of living flesh she cradled in her arms. It was the first rich, throbbing strain of a grand and terrible symphony.

She opened the sack, and felt that tremorous timbre redouble as she reached in, ice-cold fingers curling around a warm, soft, furry body.

She lifted, and the filthy, rose-colored rabbit stared at her.

It wasn't fear that made it tremble, shaking in her grasp.

It was rage.

She could see it deep in the eyes, a ravening fury which boiled like a waking volcano, far hotter than the lava the tauren had brought forth against her champion. Her lips curved in a wide smile, the glow in her eyes brightening.

She set the rabbit down on the floor, and unwove the enchantment.

The troll was on her in a heartbeat, a thing of rock-hard fists and tearing claws and goring tusks and kicking feet.. The sound of his rage was beautiful to her, more beautiful than any mere words, conveying a much deeper, more eloquent, more elemental meaning than any poem or speech, the soft song from the road where they'd first met swelled to a full-throated hymn of destruction.

She laughed as he slammed her into the stone wall of the small room hard enough to make dust rise, reveled in each blow that collided with her face, relished the breaking of her bones, the tearing of her skin, each deep-chested snarl a hot bolt of luxurious pleasure.

Her jaw shattered. Her arms snapped like twigs. Her spine bent, gave, popped. Ligaments tore. Her ribs caved in. He hit her again, and again, and again, and each punishing blow was a sensual caress, the touch of a lover who understood more than any other ever had just what exactly she needed to complete her.

It was purest ecstasy when he tore her left leg from her body, and began to beat in what was left of her face.

She lay there in that tiny, dim room, closer to true death than she had been in a very long time, and listened to him breathe with what was left of one ear, rasping breaths from deep in his lungs, fury abated only temporarily. She could still sense it in him, a rich, lovely throb that beat in her own stilled heart.

Nabniath was sated at last.

She drifted, not knowing how long she lay there, not noticing when he left, or when he returned, until she felt the sweet, hot tang of freshly-spilled blood pouring into the remnants of her mouth.

Her body absorbed it, necrotic flesh eagerly drawing in the sustenance as it repaired itself, rebuilding, muscle and bone knitting with supernatural swiftness.

Her jaw reassembled itself, and he shoved meat into her teeth.

She ate from his hand until she could feed herself, tearing hunks of flesh from the body of the dead dwarf he'd dragged in until she could lever herself up enough to feed directly. He left, and returned with a second corpse, and watched her eat, silently studying her.

She ate both of them, all of them, cracking the bones to suck the marrow, breaking open the skulls to feast on delicate gray matter, stripping every piece of soft, chewable flesh, and looked up at him.

"Why?" he asked quietly.

"Because your song is beautiful, troll." Nabniath's eyes went to his shoulder, to the scars there, remembering fondly when the skin had been flayed back, the muscles and tendons laid bare. She remembered the taste of iron and brass and opiates mixes with blood. She smiled a bloodstained smile.

"That was you." The symphony throbbed under his words, a pulse.

"Yes." Nabniath's gaze returned to the troll's. "I comforted you."

The strains of melody went still, and then returned, deeper. The troll's hand went to his shoulder, covering the ridged scar tissue. "We're in the Outlands, aren't we?"

Nabniath blinked, and then tilted her head back and sniffed, drawing in the taste of the air. She nodded after a moment. "Yes. Judging by the scent, on the outskirts of Shattrath."

For a long moment, K'dzok simply stared at her without truly seeing her. He finally had an image to go with the chilling coldness that had taken away the terrible, burning heat of his ruined shoulder – a gray woman with glowing red eyes, her smiling mouth dripping with his blood, wrapped in tattered rags as she crouched over his unconscious body.

He was revolted.

She'd saved him.

His eyes went to the pile of bones that was all that remained of the two stocky, slightly plump dwarves. He hadn't missed how quickly and deftly she'd torn the corpses apart.

It was fascinating in a strange, sickening way, seeing her bones straighten, the flesh reforming itself, ligaments and muscles shifting, coated with the slickly gleaming darkness of dead blood before they were concealed by regenerating skin, flaps of it reweaving themselves seamlessly into the rest. Even as he watched, the fresh blood on her lips darkened and drained away into the pores of her gray skin.

Why hadn't she fought back?

Why had he brought her the corpses to feed on?

They were questions he wasn't certain he knew the answers to. They were answers he wasn't entirely certain he wanted to have.

What he knew for sure was that standing here, staring at her, he felt deeply uneasy, and yet, somewhere, deep inside of him, something had reveled in all of it – the way he'd beaten her, savaged her, destroyed her, then fed her on the fresh corpses of dwarven peddlers who'd been alive a space of ten minutes ago and watched her come back to life.

It had been strangely satisfying.

She looked back up at him from where she knelt on the floor, rocking very slightly from side to side, smile still on her lips.

If Mraugon had survived, he would take up the hunt, and eventually the mouth of a spy would carry word of K'dzok back to him.

K'dzok was tired of running, running from Heironymus and Undoon and the Steel Sheen like a whipped dog. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. It was time to stop running, and start making plans. When Mraugon came, K'dzok wanted to make sure he regretted it.

He wanted to make sure Mraugon rued the day he'd ever decided to follow orders.

And looking down at Nabniath, recalling how exhilarating it had been to rip her apart, crush her bones – how _powerful_ he'd felt – he found his answer.

It didn't matter.

The only thing that mattered now was destruction, the destruction of all who opposed him, who pursued him. He would turn on them, feed on them, devour them.

It would start with Mraugon and Heironymus. That would be the beginning.

Azeroth would tremble once more in fear and rage when the name of K'dzok was whispered.

He grabbed Nabniath by one wrist and pulled her almost absently to her feet, the stalking steps of a predator moving to a song he couldn't hear as he prowled out into the street, a dark magnificat that made Nabniath's ruby eyes gleam with joyful anticipation as she followed.

Ж

It had been mutually agreed upon that they both needed to polish up on their spellcraft, which was why Annatta's arms were full of tomes today as she rode the lift up to Ambryn's apartment instead of grocery bags.

Still, that didn't mean there was no place for the cherry-jelly-centered cream puffs on the very top of the stack in a cloth-covered polished wooden bowl, and Annatta smiled at them as she stepped off and turned down the hallway.

She couldn't have said what struck her as faintly off about the blond-haired human male she passed on the way to Ambryn's door, except that he was a strapping sort, and rather unusual for these environs when almost all the residents were slender-limbed mages. He even walked with a swordsman's fluid grace, balancing his weight unconsciously as he moved, gliding down the hall like a big hunting cat.

There was a faint smile on his lips, his blue eyes distracted.

Annatta didn't knock at Ambryn's door, but simply let herself in as had become her habit.

Ambryn was standing next to his sitting room table, a book in his hands, expression not quite the hopeless overthrown dismay from a couple of nights ago, but closer to it than was comfortable to behold. Her eyes went to the single red rose that lay on the sitting room table. Her brow furrowed. She hadn't seen Nathiel or anyone approximating his description, and she was certain she'd recognize the kal'dorei on sight.

"Ambryn," she said as she approached the table, half-expecting another emotional outburst. "Has Nathiel been here?"

Ambryn looked up at her and his face went white as he closed the book in his hands.

"No." He shook his head after a moment, and his gaze dropped to the book, eyes widening, as though startled to find it in his hands. He glanced around wildly, and then walked briskly over to the couch, set the book down on a cushion, and gently laid a pillow on top of it.

Annatta watched all of this take place with a modicum of uncertainty. Her gaze went back to the rose on the table, brow furrowing as she set down the books. The petals had been coated with something that gave them a soft, subtle shimmer. The effect was quite pretty, and as she studied it more closely, she noted the intricate blue traceries over the stem, curling along the edges of the leaves.

Something tickled at the back of her mind.

She'd seen these roses before, down at the market. They were cheap and easy to make, requiring barely more than a pinch of magic and a little time and patience, and younger men and women had formed a cloud of people around the cart, presenting them to one another, a sort of inexpensive dating ritual here in this city of magic.

The rose didn't appear to have been here long.

"Do you want it?"

Annatta blinked, so busy trying to figure out which of Ambryn's acquaintances that she was familiar with seemed the most likely to have developed romantic leanings and how she was going to thwart them that she was actually mildly startled by the question. She almost said no, and then quickly changed her mind, smiling brightly at him, and tucked the rose into a pocket.

"Thank you." She avoided glancing at the book, but she was already calculating her chances of spiriting it out of the apartment without him noticing its departure. The last thing Nathiel needed was competition, especially after the way the dumb kal'dorei bastard had already set himself back. Rather than risk signaling her intent to abscond with the volume, she set down the bowl full of cream puffs. "I whipped these up yesterday. I think you'll like them."

Ambryn nodded after a moment, motions still oddly hesitant, and then sat down beside her at the table.

She wouldn't mention Nathiel directly, she decided almost immediately. If Ambryn _was_ thinking about seeing someone else, then guilt wouldn't help the situation, and driving a wedge between them would obviously be counterproductive. She had to wait for the pendulum to swing back in the other direction.

In truth, it was actually slightly difficult, and she literally bit her tongue at one point to keep from mentioning how much Nathiel might enjoy the wine-braised beef Ambryn suggested they try for their next cooking project when they took a break from their studies. By now it had become almost a habit to talk about the kal'dorei.

Thankfully, Ambryn slowly relaxed in her presence, until he was almost his usual quietly warm self. Still, she couldn't help but notice the looks he stole at the couch where the book remained hidden under the cushion, and as they prepared to leave for Periont's Tower, she was quietly trying to figure out the best way to either incapacitate this new suitor, or even better, make him appear distinctly unappealing.

For some reason her thoughts kept drifting to the blond she'd passed on the way to Ambryn's door. On the off-chance that he _was_ the mysterious visitor, she'd keep an eye out for him.

She didn't get a chance to snatch the book. Her heart almost skipped a beat when Ambryn picked it up, smile fading. It was all she could do not to let out a relieved sigh when he put it away in a drawer, and shoved it firmly closed.

"Would you think badly of me," he said quietly as they walked "if I told you that someone I . . . was once romantically involved with came to see me today?"

This was it. Annatta suppressed a triumphant smile. As always, her greatest ally, the key to all her moves, was Ambryn himself. She schooled her expression into quizzical confusion. "Not really – I mean, we've all known people in the past." She slid right into the opening in the conversation and put a hand on his arm, stopping him there in the street, drawing her brows close together, drawing her mouth down into a worried frown. "Ambryn, he didn't _hurt_ you, did he?"

Ambryn blinked, and then shook his head quickly. "No, I – that is – he didn't." He dropped his eyes. "But I . . . I didn't tell him to go away either."

Annatta allowed some of the concern to drop from her expression, but kept the slightest furrow in her brow and didn't smile at him. "Do you still have feelings for him?" was the first question that came to mind. Annatta squashed the words before they could reach her lips. The _last_ thing she wanted him doing was thinking about feelings for _anyone_ besides Nathiel, who just happened to be the other major component of her plan. "Does Nathiel know?" and "What's he look like?" joined her first instinctive inquiry on the scrap heap.

"Our affection for other people isn't a bad thing," she temporized as his eyes came up, thoughts racing a thousand miles an hour as she plotted out her next moves with a speed and ruthlessness born of urgency. "The important thing is to listen to your heart." _That_ was a little bit of a gamble on her part, despite the fact that she was fairly confident she knew where Ambryn's already lay.

Ambryn nodded after a moment, and smiled back at her, moisture glimmering in his eyes. "Thank you Annatta. I'm glad I have you for advice."

She hugged him to hide the trepidation she couldn't conceal in her expression, and managed to compose herself once more by the time the hug ended. She was well aware that she hadn't given him any _real_ advice, but he _believed_ it was real enough, and it had bought her enough time to work on neatly dividing him from this inconveniently returned old flame.

She didn't want his heart telling him about anything but a certain silver-eyed kal'dorei warrior.

She walked with him, arm-in-arm down the street, and tried not to think about how she'd not only like to divide him from his old flame, but his current one as well to make room for herself, or how much she'd wanted to wipe the leftover crumb from a cream-puff from the corner of his mouth with her finger, or better yet, her own mouth.

She'd earnestly regretted the moment when she'd gently pointed it out instead, and he'd blushed and wiped it away, giving her a grateful smile.

Her lingering guilt made a desultory effort to escape its closet, barely even a protesting thump really, which she haughtily ignored.

A mad, tiny part of her was wondering if there wasn't some way to take the water from the Well of Eternity _and_ have Ambryn in the bargain. Nameless individuals of no import were always going on about having your cake and eating it too being on the slim side of probability, but that tiny little fleck of herself wouldn't mind giving it a damn good try.

The rest of her pointed out logically that she'd have about as much luck whipping up a potion of True Love.

The tiny, mad part of her whispered subversively back that _that_ might not be such a bad idea, and it would go startlingly well with the rest of her plan.

Ж

Ambryn sat down on his couch, tilted his head back, and stared at the shadows on the ceiling cast by the light from his kitchen. He really ought to be getting ready for bed. He hadn't exaggerated when he told Nathiel that the fourth night of Circle work would be grueling, even exhausting.

Two additional Circles from Luvante's Tower would be standing by in case their strength was needed. The other Towers would be at half-staff all night, just in case someone with inside knowledge decided to take advantage of the opportunity to interfere with the city while the axial enchantment was being renewed. The Kirin Tor would take no chances.

Ambryn wasn't thinking about any of that. He was thinking of a leatherbound book, pages still crisp, rich with the smell of flower petals, binding worn smooth by loving hands. If he closed his eyes, he could see the faded golden lettering of _Sandra Dayren's Irrationally Everyday Poetry_ stamped across its face.

On the back of his eyelids he could see Hector's warm smile and sparkling blue eyes. He could feel the faint brush of tender lips against his cheek.

_Brown_

_Brown_

_Brown_

_He is Brown_

_Brown sugar and brown molasses_

_Sweet and warm and silky smooth_

_Melted next to the fire_

_His eyes are warm and brown_

_His soul is sweet and smooth_

_The brown dog lays next to the fire_

_He is Warm_

_He is Sweet_

_He is Brown_

Ambryn let out a sigh, because the words were etched there in his mind, had been there all night ever since he'd opened the book and felt them run once more across his imagination, hovering in the background of his thoughts, not intrusive, just present.

Annatta had told him to listen to his heart.

Ambryn just wished he could figure out what it was trying to tell him.

He laid down on the couch, trying to recall Nathiel's scent, the feel of his big hard body.

He remembered a kiss in a barn, the rain pouring down outside, warm hands on his hips, gentle lips on his mouth.

It melted into another memory, a harsh, passionate, desperate kiss outside a stable, heart still pounding with fear that he would lose something he couldn't bear to live without.

Ambryn wrapped his arms around himself and lay there in the half-darkness, staring unseeing into the shadows as kisses and poetry chased each other through his memories.

Ж

The woman who entered Mattran's office was dressed impeccably in a long, slim gray skirt and a matching waistcoat embroidered sparingly and tastefully with pale blue and silver threads, her dark brown hair a thick, silky cascade down one shoulder. She smiled as she entered, a tight, professional smile, and regarded the gnome priest sitting on the front of his desk without so much as a blink for the disheveled state of his robes.

"Eanté Rulaine, personal executive assistant to Ambassador Tybalt Dellani," she said, offering her hand to Mattran.

"Mattran Helfenheimler." Mattran gave her hand a brief, firm shake. "How may I assist the good Ambassador today?"

"He's actually considering an excursion to Kalimdor in the next few months." Eanté held up the small file she had under one arm. "His current itinerary will include a number of Night Elf holdings, terminating with a visit to Darnassus."

Mattran's brow furrowed slightly. "A diplomatic mission to the Night Elves? Why not just meet with them in Stormwind Keep?"

Eanté's professional smile remained utterly unchanged. "It's a good will visit. It's hardly an expression of good will if the Ambassador isn't willing to meet them on their own soil. From what I understand, your firm is one of several offering escort services out of Dalaran that employs Night Elf guides and guards. Ambassador Dellani would of course want to employ individuals who are familiar with the region he expects to tour, and feels that it would also reflect favorably on the diplomatic nature of the mission if he were to employ these same Night Elves."

"To show that he's confident of _their_ good will," Mattran interjected dryly.

Eanté nodded quickly and crisply, completely ignoring the gnome's faintly sardonic tone. "Precisely, Master Helfenheimler. It's very important to the Kirin Tor that this mission be a success. The compensation would of course be commensurate with the importance of the mission."

"Naturally." Mattran blinked. The word _compensation_ instantly caught his attention. "So you're looking for Night Elves."

Eanté nodded again, that same simple, crisp nod, as professional as the rest of her. "You're one of five firms I'm scheduled to meet with today, and by far you seem to employ the highest number of Night Elves, which seems to indicate that you have a good relationship with them in general." She paused. "The Silver Blades _have_ already expressed an interest in bidding on the contract, and there are certain parties who feel that they offer a slightly more prestigious reputation for their clients, but Vir Aegeae has an excellent record, and the Ambassador feels that perhaps your firm is somewhat undervalued."

Mattran held up a hand. "I get the picture. How many Night Elves are you going to need?"

Eanté gave him that crisp, professional smile and removed several sheets of paper held together with a paperclip. "These are estimates, based on approximate figures that may be altered in the next few weeks, along with a tentative itinerary. We're currently working with the Darnassian Embassy to nail down the specifics."

Mattran nodded absently as he flipped through, eyes going to the bottom line of the last page. "Just bring me the final figures and let me know when and where the bidding starts."

* * *

**Author's Post-Script Notes:**

I know the title for this chapter isn't overly metaphorical like the others, but I couldn't think of anything insightful.

As always, constructive criticism is what I'd like most. Humor me and leave a review with your thoughts on where I can improve, where I've screwed up, etc.

Case in point - does the homemade poetry add to the flavor and depth of the story, or is it distracting or annoying?

Big shout-out to Seripithus and Dusty the Umbravita for their feedback and replies to my questions. Thanks ladies! Much love also goes to the Aussies – my biggest non-domestic reader audience. Y'all are sexy as all get out.


	9. Act I Scene VIII: The Words That Break

**Author's Notes:**

Folks, I could blame the lateness of this next update on writer's block, or say my internet broke, or my computer was eaten by wild wolves, but I figure – why bother? The truth is that the reason this one took an extra week is a combination of laziness and the fact that I really struggled with the content of this chapter. It serves to advance the plot and lays in some important threads and so is necessary, but in my own humble opinion it is not as good as its predecessors.

Also, it's all dialogue with no action sequences, so you may well be bored out of your minds. Sorry.

Anyway, away we go!

(Edit Note 11/02 - Went through and cleaned up the most glaring typos so I wouldn't look at this and want to tear my own eyeballs out. Sorry if anyone was trying to read it and wasn't able to because I was fixing it.)

* * *

Ж

Act I Scene VIII

The Words That Break

They flowed into the glade like another part of the night, graceful, utterly silent, materializing in the gloom like somehow-lovely wraiths, forms tall and lithe. Tandira lowered her bow, and after a moment reached up to lower her hood as well, huntresses and warriors fanning out across mossy earth still marked with the scars of battle.

She gave only a passing glance to the thick, yellowing, splintered bones that lay scattered in the moonlight, grisly remainders of a horrific feast that chilled her despite the fact that she could tell at a glance that not a one of them belonged to her own people. Some of them were half-sunk into the earth, as though it had begun to devour them, a hunger awakened in it that made her step lightly for even one of her own kind.

She could feel Mishai close by, the smaller priestess' arrow yet nocked on her bowstring, ready to let fly. She was tense, face tight, unease written clearly on her features despite the fact that nothing stirred around them, crickets singing in the night, an owl calling through the boughs. All seemed as it should but for the remnants of the slaughter that had taken place here.

Cenorisen stepped confidently into the clearing, golden eyes seeking, head held high, antlers a dark tracery against the star-filled sky. Behind him, Vaelomi drifted over the earth, clad not in hunting leathers but in a pale dress that glimmered beneath the darkness of her cloak, disdaining any weapon. She drew the eye like the moon above in the sky, her pale, luminous, faintly blue skin seeming to glow. Tandira wasn't sure whether to feel admiration or chagrin at the other priestess' display of unconcern for the threat of an orcish raid.

Then again, she thought as she stepped over a femur as thick as her waist, perhaps she had good reason not to fear that the green-skinned brutes would return any time in the near future.

And then Tandira felt it, as if a bud had unfurled in her mind. Vaelomi's head snapped sideways and she froze.

"Tandira." Mishai's voice was a whisper.

Vaelomi turned, walking quickly, Tandira and Mishai trailing in her wake.

The obelisk was shattered, rune-carved face scattered into fragments strewn across the earth.

"Be careful, priestess." Cenorisen's deep voice was cautionary.

"The divinations were correct. This is the place." Vaelomi seemed to take no heed of the Keeper's words, lifting the hems of her skirt as she crouched before the remnants of the obelisk, her long, rich azure hair flowing over her shoulders. Slender, deft fingers plucked a single, round white stone from the midst of smashed jet-black shards of granite. "Lady Tyrande was correct. The Orcs have broken one of the ancient seals." She stood, closing her fingers around the white stone, and turned, clasping it to her breast. Her golden eyes were distant. "We must discover what it is they have unleashed."

Ж

Annatta blinked, because the pillow under her head and the fabrics wrapped around her body were unfamiliar. Even the ceiling looked . . . strange. She turned her head, ignoring the way her marrow still seemed to resonate with the powerful magic she had helped to wield just a few hours ago.

There were dark circles around Ambryn's eyes, his eyelids a faintly purple color, deep physical exhaustion leaving its visible mark on his wan features, the sun coming through the window gilding his golden curls with luminous brilliance.

She remembered it now, the rich, thrumming strength of the magic, a voice greater than any mortal's, like the voice of a god, woven through mortal souls into a tapestry intricate and unutterably grand, a chorus, a hymn of power. She remembered him, there beside her, sharing so much unadulterated magic. Her fingers curled, because she could still remember it tingling over her skin and she smiled secretly, knowing that this, at least, was something he shared with her, something he would never share with the _kal'dorei _male.

She lay there in his bed and watched him sleep, treasuring the quiet, fleeting moments until the door opened.

Hector, if she remembered his name correctly, leaned in through the door, blue eyes darkening as they settled on Ambryn and then rose to meet her stare. He'd been there at the carriage when it stopped at Ambryn's apartment building, blond hair back-lit by the lights from the windows and she'd watched, strengthless, as he'd lifted Ambryn in his arms.

He'd looked at her, probably seeing more of her in that moment than she wished to reveal to anyone, and perhaps it was the pity she could see in those blue eyes that had made him jerk his chin. She'd leaned heavily against him on the way into the building but he hadn't complained. She was pretty much certain he'd have liked to take her place in the bed. She could see it in his gaze now as he met her stare.

She struggled upright with an effort, wobbled to the door, and followed him into the main room, tottering over to the couch as he went into the kitchen and came back with two cups of dark coffee. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, leaving a good portion of his strapping, slightly hairy chest visible, shirttails untucked, and he was barefoot.

She imagined she probably looked worse, her hair disheveled and unbound, still wrapped in her robe from last night.

"You wish I'd been on the couch instead," she said bluntly as he sat down and handed her a mug.

He nodded, with a faint smile for her candor. "Unequivocally," he said just as honestly. "I want him. I would have given anything to have slept with him in my arms and gotten to see him smile when he woke up at the sight of me."

"Why didn't you?"

Hector smiled faintly. "It's part of my strategy. I look like the good guy if I don't take advantage of him – and right now, that's exactly what he'd think. I'd look desperate, presumptuous, and unscrupulous. I wouldn't have gotten my smile. I _definitely_ wouldn't have gotten sex."

Annatta had a spare moment to wish that she _had_ spent the night on the couch, since that would have solved her problems neatly.

Hector's smile widened, became a faintly sardonic smirk, clearly following the direction of her thoughts. "I don't need to tell you you aren't competition. You're smart enough to figure that out."

"No. _I'm_ not." She watched his expression, saw the lack of surprise at the implications of those two small words.

"The mercenary." Hector's smile vanished.

"He's a good man." Annatta sipped from her coffee mug. "Ambryn is in love with him."

"He said that, did he?" Hector glanced down at his coffee mug. When those blue eyes came back, they were dark again. "I wouldn't have expected you to side with a night elf."

"Nathiel makes him happy." Annatta shrugged.

"I could make him happy. I did once." Hector sipped his coffee. "I think I'd be a better choice for him."

Annatta lifted one eyebrow. "Oh?"

Hector smirked at her. "My credentials are pretty good. I produce them upon request."

Annatta furrowed her brow, studying him for a minute. He wasn't cocky, but he was very confident, and she had by this point established that he was obviously the same former love interest who'd dropped off the book of poetry and the flower. She wondered if he'd already noted the latter's absence and had a chance to go looking for the former. Her mouth tightened. He was intelligent, not stupid or pretentious. This was going to make things difficult.

"I think at this point it's safe to say that you really aren't competition either." She let a hint of coolness slip into her tone.

Hector just smirked at her, reached down, and cupped the generously proportioned package between his legs with one large hand. "I like my chances a _lot_ better than yours, sweetheart." He leaned in close enough that she could feel his breath warm on her ear. "What I'd like to know is, what do you get out of this if the night elf gets Ambryn?"

"I like the "if" you tossed in there," Annatta said quickly, stalling for time, scrabbling for a moment to think. "That's a nice touch."

She turned her face away, but she was watching him out of the corner of her eye, and the look in those damnably intelligent blue eyes was calculating. She had to get him off-balance. "I don't honestly think you love him as much as the _kal'dorei_, or you'd still have him. I think the one here with an ulterior motive is you." She watched his face, and knew by the way his body went rigid and his eyes flared with cobalt fire that she'd struck home, perhaps deeper than she'd meant to.

Most worrisome of all, he calmed down, sat back on the couch, and smiled, but his eyes were as hard as diamonds. "I've waited seven years. He's the _only_ thing I want." His smile twisted. "That's how I know you're playing for different stakes."

Annatta realized two things in that moment: the first, that Hector was playing for keeps, and the second, that she'd grossly underestimated him, and might have just made things significantly worse by tipping her hand. Doubt whispered seductively to her, teased her, tormented her with dark murmurs that told her she couldn't succeed. She shoved it aside. She had to succeed. Hector was just one more obstacle in her path, and she would do whatever was necessary to accomplish her goal.

_Whatever_ was necessary.

The look in his blue eyes told her that he was thinking exactly the same thing. That mutual understanding made verbal acknowledgment superfluous.

Hector got up without another word. A few minutes later she could hear him making breakfast. Annatta wrapped her fingers around her coffee mug, and tried to figure out how she was not only going to unravel the mess she'd made, but how she was going to keep Hector from doing any more damage at what was a _very_ critical juncture.

Above all, what she had to do was keep him from realizing he might just have gotten to Ambryn with the book and the flower. Her eyes went to the drawer in the small table where she'd seen Ambryn put the volume away just four days ago, nesting like a coiled viper, waiting to sink venomous fangs into the heart of her plans. It was a weapon in Hector's hand.

She set down her mug on the coffee table and got up.

It would only take a moment.

She took a step towards the table, gaze resting on the smooth brass handle.

The window could be opened.

She took another step.

By the time it hit the ground it would be charred ashes, beyond recovery.

Annatta took another step, and then another. Her hand trembled as she reached for the drawer handle, pulled it slowly open. The smell and sizzle of bacon emanated from the kitchen where Hector was preparing breakfast.

The leather binding was worn smooth, like one of her father's, the golden lettering on the front faded with age. It was soft in her fingers, and her nose caught the faintest hint of scent. Her eyes lingered on _Sandra Dayren's Irrationally Everyday Poetry_, the 'e' in the last word almost faded from view, the 'S' at the beginning nearly as far gone. This book had been loved, her fingers told her, opened many times, read many times. A hint of scent caught her nose.

She stopped, and something in her compelled her to open the first page. Lilac petals scattered, their faded, subtle perfume wafting up from the page.

_To Marianne Dellani_, the inscription read _On the first anniversary of our wedding_. _I can't imagine you without this book nearby_. _I'll try not to leave this one out in the rain._

Annatta felt her heart stop in her chest at the realization of just whose book this was, felt tears prick her eyes, and for a moment her guilt found new life, battering at the walls of its prison, and she stood, frozen, unable to believe what she'd been about to destroy.

She turned the page, and the words, strangely compelling despite the fact that they were about everyday things like ladles and bowls and fireplaces, enveloped her, filled her with gentle, tender warmth. She smiled at the _Secret of Spoons_, turned the page, and murmured the words of _The Bucket and the Brush_ under her breath as she read them.

She didn't hear the door opening, didn't even realize Ambryn was there until he softly called her name. She looked up at him, startled, utterly forgetting herself for a moment. His jade eyes were still shaded with weariness as he leaned there against the wood of the door frame.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Ambryn smiled at her. It was pale, but it was real. "It's okay," he said quietly.

She almost told him then, almost told him everything, how she was maneuvering him into Nathiel's arms, how she was plotting to use both of them for her own ends, how she'd been about to destroy the volume in her hands that he no doubt treasured more than almost every other possession. Her guilt shattered the door to its closet and erupted from the splintered remnants, more powerful than ever.

"I think she would have liked for you to read it," he continued, stopping her in her tracks. His eyes dropped to the book. "When I read it, it's almost as though she's still here."

A tear slid down Annatta's cheek, and she gently gathered up the scattered flower petals that had fallen while she was reading, lilac petals, rose petals, chrysanthemums, tucking them back into the pages. She set the book gently back in its drawer. For a moment, she thought wonderingly, his words still echoing in her ears, it was as though she'd been touched by the soul of his mother, a distant echo of that same, gentle warmth he seemed to exude.

When she looked up, Ambryn wasn't looking at her anymore. He was gazing across the room, but making no move towards Hector, who stood in the doorway to the kitchen looking back at him with blazing blue eyes.

"I made breakfast," Hector said quietly. Annatta looked at him, and she bound her guilt once more, this time in chains of titanium.

"Thank you," Ambryn said quietly back.

Annatta could feel the tension thickening on the air. She could have cut it with a knife. Ambryn took an unsteady step forward, swayed on the second, and despite the face that Hector was on the other side of the room from them, he somehow made it there first, gathering the mage up into his arms and carrying him into the bedroom.

They all had breakfast in bed.

Well, sort of.

Ambryn ate, leaning back against the headboard, covers up to his waist, and Hector took most of the foot of the bed, Annatta off to the side on Ambryn's left.

There wasn't much talk. Ambryn was still obviously exhausted, and Annatta was tired, and _definitely_ not interested in further conversation with Hector. Ambryn started to nod off, and Annatta had to bite her tongue when the tall blond shifted to sit next to Ambryn, cradling him against his broad chest. She took the dishes into the kitchen, and then made use of Ambryn's shower. Feeling somewhat refreshed, but still weary, she returned to the bedroom to find that Hector had discarded his shirt at some point, and he was laying down now, Ambryn's head cradled in the crook of his broad shoulder.

She ignored Hector's gaze as she stripped down to her shift and climbed under the covers on Ambryn's other side, nestling up to him. If Hector _did_ try something, he'd hesitate at the very least with her right beside them.

Ж

Ambryn woke to find himself in an awkward, somewhat compromising position he only vaguely recalled getting into. His head was cradled in the crook of Hector's broad, bare shoulder, the knight's left nipple in his direct line of sight, a strong arm wrapped across his back, a big hand curved over his hip. His knee was propped up on Hector's left thigh, and his right hand rested on a hard, warm, rippling, faintly hairy abdomen.

There was another warm body against his back, and Ambryn craned his head around to see Annatta sleeping peacefully on his other side. Her much more slender arm was the one he felt resting over his ribs, and she looked to be dressed in nothing more than a shift.

Ambryn let out a small sigh, got up, cheeks glowing faintly with embarrassment, and ignored the murmurs of his other two bedmates as he untangled himself and crawled out of bed, intent on a shower. His stomach growled, and he reflected ruefully that he'd best attend to that next.

There was simply no hope of salvaging his dignity, so he just wrote that item off for the rest of the day.

The hot water in the shower helped tremendously, washing away some of the weary aches in his tired body. He still felt worn afterward, but also refreshed, and he strolled slowly back into his bedroom, leaving the shower to Annatta. Outside, the sun had already mostly set.

He and Annatta had already done the shopping for dinner in anticipation – it was simple store-bought spaghetti with red meat sauce, and there was even enough for Hector. Ambryn left his guests to their ablutions went into the kitchen to start dinner.

"So I was thinking we could catch a show tomorrow," Hector said as he sat next to Ambryn and scooped spaghetti and sauce onto his plate. His hair was wet from the shower, but he was wearing his same trousers, unbuttoned at the top, nothing more, baring his muscular torso. His broad shoulders, chiseled chest, and tight-muscled belly lightly were dusted with fine blond hair. "There's a dramatic comedy playing at the Veil and Rose theater – I understand it's supposed to be quite good."

Ambryn froze, and then his mouth tightened. There wasn't an easy way to do it.

"I'm actually meeting Nathiel tomorrow," he said point-blank, looking up to meet Hector's gaze.

The tall blond knight blinked, jaw tightening for a moment before he managed to relax his lips into a faint smile, but there was a storm brewing in his blue eyes. "I see. And the day after?"

"He's introducing me to his guildmates." Ambryn continued to meet Hector's gaze, not flinching away.

Hector nodded, looking down at his plate after a moment. "I can see I'll need to get my bids on your time in early."

Ambryn parted his lips to tell Hector that Nathiel would _still_ have first claim, but let the words die without being spoken. It would be cruel to say, he told himself, and unnecessary, ignoring the nagging little voice that said maybe he wasn't being fair to Hector by not giving him an opportunity, that he wasn't being fair to _himself_ by the same turn. Ambryn dismissed it with a slight shake of his head and served himself.

_He was so much more than just your friend_, it whispered as it departed, a final parting shot. _Doesn't he deserve better?_

The rest of the meal was quiet.

Part of Ambryn was dreading an argument with Hector to get him to leave, but to his relief, Hector seemed to realize that an argument would be the inevitable result, and made a graceful departure, Annatta leaving as well after a few minutes more.

Ambryn simply stood staring at the door for a moment. He'd gotten the distinct impression that neither of his two visitors much cared for the other, though neither had been overtly offensive, simply somewhat cool.

He could still feel Hector's warm body next to his, his head resting on the knight's chest, that strong arm wrapped around him . . . Ambryn put his fingers to his temples, and summoned the image of Nathiel, deliberately recalling the vivid sensation of rubbing against the night elf in blatant sexual invitation. His mouth turned down at the corners as he recalled Nathiel's abrupt and inexplicable desire to go for a frolic in the snow. It would have been so much nicer just to stay on the couch . . .

Ambryn crossed his arms. Tomorrow night, he promised himself, he'd have Nathiel all to himself, and if he so much as hinted that he'd like to go for a ride . . . well, Ambryn wasn't sure _what_ he was going to do, but he was sure he could come up with something.

Well, he needed his beauty rest if he was going to seduce his incredibly handsome night elf suitor like he was planning. Ambryn glanced around the room once more, and then headed for bed.

Ж

It took Nathiel a few moments of drowsy pleasure to realize the lips against his own weren't a dream, and he blinked in the darkness, looking down at the face of the figure he'd just rolled over on top of, hand already between a pair of spread legs, his cock at full attention.

The visage that resolved out of the darkness confirmed what he could already feel against his naked skin. Belauq looked up at him with golden eyes that betrayed just a hint of nervousness.

"_What are you doing here?_" Nathiel asked softly in Darnassian, not shifting, his weight pinning the _kal'dorei_ druid to the bed.

Belauq winked, a grin curving his lips. "_Your landlady let me-_"

"_That's not what I meant, Bel._" Nathiel didn't return the smile.

Belauq's expression grew somber as well, eyes searching Nathiel's face. "_I honestly don't think you really know what you're getting into with this one, Nath._"

Nathiel frowned, eyes narrowing slightly. "_What's that supposed to mean?_"

Belauq shook his head. "_I saw the way he looks at you. He's not in this for a few one night stands. He doesn't want just a brief, fun fling. He's in it for the long term. He's going to expect you to feel the same._"

"_And you think I don't_." Nathiel was well aware that his voice had dropped dangerously low, and he made no effort to change his tone.

"_I know you,_" Belauq whispered softly, reaching up to stroke the sides of Nathiel's face.

Nathiel grabbed his wrists and forced them back into the pillow. "_Then you know how much you're pissing me off_."

"_Because I'm right?_" The nervousness in Belauq's golden eyes was ebbing underneath anger of his own. "_Who are you fooling with this pretense of chivalry? Not me, though you might be fooling him, or even yourself. I've known you for centuries. He's known you for a handful of weeks, no more._"

He pushed against Nathiel's restraining hands, unable to budge more than a hairsbreadth beneath the much greater power of the warrior's arms. "_I actually bought it the other day, the whole business about being fair to him and me._" The druid's golden eyes blazed. "_But that's just shit, isn't it? Just a line you're feeding everyone. I've known you for centuries, Nathiel Highfury, and I don't think this one truly means any more to you than all the others. I'm just in the way, keeping you from your latest conquest, the next notch on your bedpost!_"

Nathiel saw Belauq grimace, and realized his hands had tightened on the druid's wrists, bone grinding in his grip. He loosened up slightly, fighting to control the rage that was rising in him. "_Maybe_," he snarled back, "_I've gotten tired of waking with the other side of the bed empty. Maybe I'm sick of different faces every night, none of them memorable. Maybe I'm fed up with someone who sneaks out of my bed and into someone else's, and thinks nothing of it!_" Nathiel realized he was shouting. He forced his voice down, but it still came out as a growl. "_I used to think that was all there was, just passing partners, moving from one to the next, because you'd only ever grow tired of them anyway in our immortal life. That's how I lived, like everyone else. But _he _doesn't believe that._"

"_How do you know that_?" Belauq asked entirely too reasonably.

Nathiel almost hit him, almost drove his fist into the pretty mouth he'd kissed and ravished and groaned into more than once, because he didn't have a retort, his very breath stolen away by the blow he hadn't seen coming.

"_You don't, do you?_" Belauq's words were like ice-cold knives, digging under Nathiel's skin. "_It wasn't him you were in love with that day, was it? It's the idea that maybe you've found this dream made flesh, preserved for you, and you alone. You're chasing after an illusion Nath, and you'll hate him and yourself both when you find out he isn't real._"

The words cut deep, the worst part of the injury they inflicted edged with jagged-toothed logic that drove into something vital in Nathiel's chest, and the agony made him furious, filling him with an instinctive need to kill its source. His vision went red at the edges.

He stopped himself before his fingers could finish closing around Belauq's throat, darkly gleaming blood seeping from a cut in the druid's lip Nathiel didn't even remember giving him, the only other testimony the faint sting in the knuckles of his right hand. Sickened but still fighting the fury that roiled within him like a building storm cloud, threatening to shatter everything in its path, Nathiel rolled off the druid and went to the window, opening it to admit a blast of frigid air that hardly helped to cool the heat in his blood.

He focused on Ambryn's pale face, his sweet, soft smile, his eyes like the living forest, running through every memory he could conjure, and deep inside him, something cried out in dismay, because he realized he was turning them over, looking for any sign that Belauq might be right, that Ambryn was nothing more than a dream Nathiel had built up in his mind, an illusion formed of his own making, his desires desperately projected into those lovely eyes.

"_I'm sorry I had to hurt you,_" Belauq whispered softly from the bed.

"Get out," Nathiel growled deliberately in common, forsaking the flowing, liquid syllables of his native tongue for the human words. "Get the _fuck_ out!" He didn't turn, didn't look at the other _kal'dorei_. He gritted his teeth, because the crushing heat in his chest was only getting worse, until he wanted to tear something apart, ached to destroy something, anything. He stood where he was, trying to draw in the chill of the night air.

Warm, gentle fingers came to rest gently against his rigid back.

"_It's alright_," Belauq whispered. "_It's alright._"

"How could you do this to me?" Nathiel's voice was quiet, cold, and deathly. It wasn't the cold that made him shake. It was the rage and the hurt that were threatening to explode at any moment onto the oh-so-convenient target at his back.

"_Because I care for you. If I hadn't told you, and you realized that I knew, would you ever have forgiven me?_" Belauq's tone was soft, even sad. "_I wanted to keep the truth in front of your eyes, Nathiel. I didn't want to hurt you, but I wanted to let you be hurt even less._"

Nathiel turned, brushing Belauq away, but the druid didn't step back, reaching up to hold Nathiel's face in his hands. His golden eyes were full of tears. "_I'm here for you. You know that._"

Nathiel didn't fight the lips that pressed against his, didn't push Belauq away. He stared down into the other _kal'dorei_'s eyes, and suddenly felt utterly cold, all the heat gone from his body, as though he'd ceased to live. He pulled away, and started getting dressed.

"Where are you going?" Belauq asked, shock in his voice, dropping out of Darnassian.

"Out." Nathiel bit the word off - crisp, cold, and clean.

He didn't know how long he wandered through the city, paid no attention the the streets as he ghosted through them, a dark brooding figure, like a caged predator, only it wasn't the city that was his prison, but the tormenting thoughts in his mind that he couldn't outpace. Still, he kept moving, because he couldn't keep still, couldn't settle, drifting from corner to corner, gliding down alleys, prowling restlessly, not even knowing what he was seeking.

Somehow he ended up in front of Ambryn's apartment building. He recognized it, uncertain how long he'd been standing there across the street, staring at it. He didn't cross the empty avenue, but gazed up at the windows, most of them dark this late at night. Somewhere, he knew, Ambryn was up there.

The thought filled him with a mixture of pain, longing, and the drifting remnants of pleasure, torn to shreds by the all-too-knowing words from Belauq's lips. He wondered if Ambryn was asleep. He wondered if someone else was in Ambryn's bed even now, holding him in his arms.

Nathiel squeezed his eyes shut, because the heat flared in his chest all over again. He squatted where he was, dressed in his armor, and stared up at the dark windows, his spear across his knees.

Ж

Ambryn blinked at the knock on his door. It was Brandon, the daytime concierge, and there was a nervous look on his features, his sideswept brown hair appearing slightly displaced, as though he'd been running.

"Mr. Dellani," he said, light tenor voice slightly strained, reinforcing Ambryn's suspicions that he'd been running. "Your um . . . the night elf that you . . ." He paused, clearly looking for a polite way to reference Nathiel and just as clearly not quite sure how to do so. "Well, he's . . . he's been across the street all night. A few of the other residents are starting to become . . . somewhat alarmed. There's been talk of calling the guard, but I thought before that . . ."

Ambryn blinked again, and then he was past Brandon at a run, disdaining dignity in favor of speed as he headed for the lift. He got inside, realized abruptly that he hadn't ever actually _used_ the lever on the side, and Brandon stepped inside after him, and flipped it, breathing hard, evidently right on his heels.

He slammed the filigreed gates open the moment they were on the ground floor, and Ambryn was running across the lobby, dodging the mages giving him curious looks, his heart in his throat. The sun was just rising, sending its golden rays down the street.

Ж

Nathiel blinked, falling out of the trance he'd been in as he sensed something change in his surroundings, an irregularity in the flow of people. He saw Ambryn emerge from the lobby doors at a run, felt a strange sense of surreal disbelief, and then the sun was dancing in the human's golden curls, setting it all aglow with breathtaking radiance, his jade eyes wide and luminous, pale face slightly flushed. He felt his heart stop in his chest, felt the world drop away, narrowing to the graceful figure in flowing robes running towards him.

Ж

Ambryn caught sight of Nathiel, and he felt his heart stop in his chest. The night elf rose from his crouch, dark blue plate armor glinting dully in the morning light, shifting his spear from his knees to one hand as he straightened, face strangely expressionless. Ambryn didn't halt, but jumped the steps and ran right into Nathiel's arms. For a moment, Nathiel simply stood where he was, as though he'd turned into a statue, and then his arms came around, curving gently around Ambryn, and Ambryn thought for a moment that he was horribly injured somehow when the big night elf dropped to his knees, spear clattering the ground, and pressed his face against Ambryn's abdomen.

"Please," he whispered. "Please tell me you're real."

"Oh love." Ambryn felt tears come to his eyes, because there was pain, deep and tired, in Nathiel's voice. "I'm real, and I'm here, I promise."

The arms around him tightened almost to the point that they took his breath away, but Ambryn scarcely noticed, one hand stroking Nathiel's hair, the other on his back, holding him tenderly, and afraid, because he could feel Nathiel trembling. Not knowing what else to do, he began to sing, a soft, crooning lullaby. He wasn't sure how long they remained there like that, but he felt Nathiel shift against him, drawing back. For a moment he thought he'd done something wrong, silver eyes glowing fiercely up at him, and then Nathiel was kissing him, mouth fierce on Ambryn's lips, still holding him tightly, as though he'd never let go.

Ж

Nathiel could feel Ambryn, soft and warm and gentle, there in his arms, and longed for it to be enough, needed desperately for it to be real, with an urgency that shocked even him. Before he'd realized it, the words had escaped his lips.

Ambryn's answer was sweet, tender, the words unimportant, the emotions underlaying them balm to Nathiel's soul, and when he began to sing, Nathiel could only remain there where he was, on his knees, spell-bound, because he could feel the feeling returning to his body, feel the dream rising around him again.

All he could do was embrace it, because he _needed_ it. He needed _this_. Suddenly Ambryn's mouth was under his, lips so soft, yielding, warm and sweet, and the faint smell of mint suffused the air around him, intoxicating and light. Nathiel couldn't bring himself to let go. He drank Ambryn in again as he had at the stable, drew on him like air, like life itself.

He kissed the human until he was breathless, until he felt new fire racing through his veins again, cleansing and sweet, bringing him back to life. He looked down into jade eyes gone hazy with pleasure.

Maybe Belauq was right.

Maybe this was wrong.

The very thought was anathema, too close to possibility to be bearable, and Nathiel drank from Ambryn once more, until every last trace of his doubt and despair was burned away, and gathered the human mage up in his arms, carrying him inside, unwilling to relinquish him.

Unwilling to relinquish the dream.

Ж

Ambryn heard Nathiel's heart beat slow and steady in his chest, felt that granite-hard torso rise and fall underneath his cheek, and reflected ruefully that yet again, they hadn't quite managed to make it to the bedroom, in both the literal and metaphorical senses.

To his relief, Nathiel was seemingly uninjured, at least physically. Ambryn remembered another morning though, when it had been Nathiel who'd come to him, found him crying there in the lobby. He hadn't asked any questions, seeming to understand that whatever had just happened was itself past bearing, much less remembering and reliving.

His arms were still fierce in their embrace, even in slumber, and Ambryn couldn't help but feel tears prick once more at his eyes at the thought of Nathiel's words. Something in his world had been broken, and Ambryn wasn't at all sure he could set it to rights, but he was determined to do what he could. All too soon, the warmth of Nathiel's big body and the feeling of security in his embrace ensnared Ambryn's senses in drowsiness.

Ambryn managed to half-smother a yawn, and then he was falling asleep in Nathiel's arms.

Ж

The first thought that had entered Tybalt Dellani's mind when he'd seen his estranged (_temporarily_ estranged, he correct himself) son erupt from the doors of his apartment building had been that Ambryn had somehow gotten word of his imminent arrival and was high-tailing it out of the vicinity in an attempt to avoid what he undoubtedly assumed would be another uncomfortable, probably even combative encounter his father.

Following right on its heels was the possibility that there might be a fire, but there was no smoke coming from any of the windows, and no one seemed unduly alarmed.

And then the ambassador had followed his son's gaze, realized that those jade eyes never even wavered to one side or the other, and turned to see what could only be the night elf he was even now making an earnest bid to remove from his city.

What had happened next had shocked him outright, to the point that he'd forgotten himself, forgotten the reason for his errand, only able to watch as the night elf collapsed to his knees, pulling Ambryn close like a drowning man clinging to a piece of flotsam for dear life, the kiss that followed only compounding his stunned disbelief with something akin to horror as his son was practically _mauled_ by a common mercenary, and a desperate-looking one at that.

He was still, staring, utterly agog, as the night elf scooped Ambryn into his arms as though he weighed something less than a feather, and went inside.

What was more, while there were shocked glances following the couple, they weren't as appalled as Tybalt might have reasonably expected in the event that such a sight was utterly foreign to them.

He was still struggling to gather his wits and his composure when a voice he recalled with some disfavor spoke from his right.

"He hasn't changed a bit." There was genuine regret in Hector's voice.

Tybalt's flash of hot anger snapped his wits back into place. "Shouldn't that give you the advantage then?" he murmured coldly, and turned to go.

"I was more expecting you to sort of blast him out of existence while you had a clear shot." Hector's tone was edged with grim amusement. "That would have solved my problems nicely."

Tybalt stopped at that, and gave the blond knight an eagle-eyed glare. "Whereupon you, in your eagerness to garner my son's favor and your zealous respect for the rule of law, would undoubtedly have plunged your sword into my ribs."

The hint of a smile tugged at Hector's mouth, his blue eyes ice-cold. "The thought had occurred to me. This didn't need to happen in the first place. It _wouldn't_-"

"If you think, for one moment, than I honestly regret my actions that afternoon, you are wrong, Sir Evansley." Tybalt cut Hector off like a sharp hatchet going through cotton, dark eyes flashing. "At the moment, you are the lesser evil, but do not fail to understand for even a moment that I think only less of you for that." He turned away. "Do not speak to me directly again. It only hampers your chances. If you need to send word, do so through Eanté."

Ж

Hector watched Tybalt leave with only a small amount of grim satisfaction. In truth, he honestly _would _have considered slaying the ambassador if it would get him Ambryn's affections, except for the fact that he knew Ambryn wouldn't regard him any more kindly for the act. He'd much rather have stabbed the night elf though, if he had the choice.

Getting into a fight with Tybalt had been stupid, but it was the only outlet available for his rage, and Hector knew the older man was too cool and calculating to let it hamper his plans to get Ambryn safely back under control.

That was exactly where Hector _didn't_ want him. Of course, the problem with Tybalt Dellani was that while he _was_ controlling, he always kept his means impeccable, ready for scrutiny, balancing his use of power with the proper amount of moderation to keep it from appearing harsh or unreasonable. It was a line that had been _very_ fine at times, but unfortunately, it was a line the ambassador still had yet to cross, at least as far as Hector knew.

Something told him that if those less scrupulous acts _did_ exist of course, then they were hidden so deeply and well that finding them would be tantamount to being buried oneself in the uncovering.

Hector scowled. It was wheels within wheels, politics even in matters of the heart, and he was getting sick of it, sick of playing the game, biding his time, trying to keep what little hold on Ambryn he had left, though that admittedly seemed slight.

Hector grimaced. He couldn't give up. He wouldn't. He hadn't waited seven years just to let Ambryn fall out of his life.

Ж

Eanté glanced up as Tybalt entered.

He didn't storm, didn't scowl, outward facade unfailingly composed. But his rage hung around him like the first clouds of a thunderstorm building on the horizon. She smiled at him, the professional one that he liked to see, the one that told him that here, in his offices in the State Department, the wheels and gears continued to run in sync, on time, and in good order.

He glanced at her, and she saw the fury in his eyes recede slightly.

"Have you found anything about the mercenary case?"

Eanté allowed her smile to widen slightly. "As a matter of fact, there was a report of an incident where the mercenary in question was involved, apparently personally. It comes from a young lady of good social standing. Her father is a ranking colonel in the Lordaeron army."

Tybalt stopped, and then a smile crossed his features, the small, subtle one that told her that inside, he was chortling with glee. "Be so good as to have it on my desk this afternoon," he said warmly.

She nodded.

He resumed his dignified stroll to his office with a much more satisfied air, and then paused.

Eanté lifted her head inquiringly.

He inclined his head ever so slightly. "Thank you, Eanté. I depend on you."

Eanté smiled back. "It's my pleasure, Ambassador."

Ж

* * *

**Author's Post-Script Notes:**

I leave you with my customary request for constructive criticism and ideas where I can improve my writing. Help me be a better writer, and I'll give you better stuff to read.

Also, once again, thanks goes to you wonderful folks who were good enough to leave me reviews thus far!

Dusty the Umbravita and Seripithus, again, thank your for your continued feedback – you really have helped me to reveal my characters, not just to others, but to myself, and I hope you'll continue to help me out in that endeavor. Much love for you ladies!

FalseHope 01, it's nice to see that someone appreciates my cleanup efforts, and I hope you let me know if you _do_ see any typos, because I hate the little buggers, and every time I review my work, I seem to find something that makes me want to grimace at the thought of how many other people have probably seen it.

Kinsfang, sorry Hiath died, but I'm glad you like the story! Maybe I'll be able to work in some closure for our stoic blood elf, but it most likely won't come until the end (which admittedly is quite a ways away).

Oh, and if anyone has an idea for a better summary, I'd welcome assistance. I have to agree that the current one sucks.


	10. Act I Scene IX: Seduction

**Author's Notes:**

Graphic Gay Sex.

You've been warned.

* * *

Ж

Act I Scene IX

The Seduction I've Been Waiting For

Nathiel lay on Ambryn's couch with his eyes closed. He wasn't asleep. Sleep would have deprived him of what he was feeling now. He was savoring the sensation of Ambryn there in his arms, treasuring this moment of intimacy, skin to skin. In the wake of his argument with Belauq, he'd allowed himself to believe that perhaps the druid had been right, too shocked, too _insecure_ in his faith in Ambryn to follow the abrupt change in tactics. Belauq had realized Nathiel's past wasn't enough to hold him, and gone after Ambryn instead.

But here, with Ambryn secure in his arms, honey-spun hair fanning across his chest in a soft cascade of rich amber, it was so much easier to look back and see through what he realized now was a desperate, last-ditch attempt to manipulate him. Now, his fears assuaged, it seemed so incredibly obvious. Nathiel even felt a little stupid, not just for doubting Ambryn, but for doubting his own instincts where the human was concerned. With his arms curled around Ambryn's back, it was so much easier to recall that night at the Cerulean Lights where he'd pulled him close and sensed the hesitancy mixed with desire that told the truth all by itself.

That hesitancy had melted away over the past weeks. If Nathiel hadn't opened his mouth a little less than a week ago when last they'd shared this couch, he knew for a fact that he would have been buried to the hilt in the human's virgin body.

He felt Ambryn relax into him, heard the human's breathing slow as he slipped into slumber, and opened one eye with a small smile. It was strange, this ability to lay here, to desperately _want_ Ambryn, his penis as hard as steel and engorged to its full length and breadth, and yet somehow be able to resist his body's demands to satisfy that urge as long as Ambryn was there in his arms, as though sated simply by his presence.

He could wake him. Ambryn would welcome him eagerly. Nathiel didn't doubt it for a moment.

But he didn't want to spoil what he had planned for tonight. Nathiel's smile widened. He already knew the sex would be memorable, but this time, for _this_ one, he wanted everything else to be just as much so.

He was actually starting to feel slightly smug over his self-restraint when Ambryn shifted slightly in his sleep, a soft thigh just grazing his cock, and it was all Nathiel could do not to flip the human over and take him, all his plans for tonight be damned, his hands clenching into fists, blood roaring, heart pumping, teeth gritted.

Well, maybe his self-restraint wasn't so great after all.

Ж

Shaenae pulled her cloak close around her, mouth thinning with displeasure as the frigid breeze tried to snatch it away from her or wrest her hood from over her pale blue hair. She missed the warmth of Ashenvale already, its silken nights and welcoming shadows a refuge ruled by the night elves who hunted in it, feared even by the demonic and orcish invaders that sought to defile it. They were few in these latter days, or else those invaders would not persist as they had, but persist they did, though with a watchful eye toward wherever boughs cast shade.

More recently of course, the orcs and their allies had suffered even greater losses, thanks to whatever they had loosed. The priestesses of Elune believed that whatever had been released needed to be discovered and rebound. Shaenae was pragmatic enough to wonder if preparing to take such measures was truly the course they wanted to pursue, but also wise enough to sense that it might be necessary to do so.

After all, there were only so many orcs and their ilk, only so many demons, and at the rate they were finding their deaths at the hand of this mysterious force, there might not be a great many left before long, and who was to say this . . . _thing_ might not seek elsewhere to sate its appetite? That it was feeding, Shaenae did not doubt. She had seen the carcasses left after it had fed, scraps of flesh withered on the broken, half-eaten bones.

The _kal'dorei_ huntress looked up at the powerful walls of Valiance Keep, stern gray stone drawing closer as the ship neared, and frowned. If only the humans wouldn't spread _quite_ so far, she thought grumpily. She'd heard the lands around Stormwind Keep were temperate, but those lands had been given to others to search.

She drew the portrait once more from an inner pocket, glimmering enamel denoting not one, but two faces. Had she not been told, she would scarce have believed the masterfully rendered images were the same person despite the similarity in their faces. On one side, golden curls fanned out like the coiling flames of a harsh sun from a cold, snowy face, the eyes impenetrable wells of darkness, somehow disturbing, the artist's work a little _too_ painstakingly accurate for her liking.

On the other side of the ovoid was the same snowy face and pale skin, but the curls were spun honey, feathery and delicate despite their fullness. The jade eyes were lovely, like windows onto the forest, but disturbing in their own way, somehow immeasurably sad and yet terribly vivid, charged with emotion.

_Yes_, she thought to herself, looking into those jade eyes, studying the fervor in them and recalling the words of Priestess Mishai, _a terrible love indeed._ She wondered who those eyes were gazing upon in that moment of awful vulnerability, and then shook her head. She didn't want to know.

Her gaze went to the wharves, frost persisting in the shadows of the piers where the sun couldn't reach, and hoped devoutly that the human she and her comrades had been ordered to find was not here. Let one of the others find him. She wanted no part of this strange, pale, two-faced young man.

Still, she searched the faces of the human dockworkers who caught the ropes or hauled cargo nearby, scanning the sailors and soldiers with her keen, lavender eyes, but their faces were ruddy, many weathered by harsh wind and the sun, eyes of blue, and gray, and brown, or green too light or too dark, hair red, blond, brown, auburn, black, none of those few with curls the shade of spun honey.

Ten minutes later she was in the office of the port's governor, ignoring his barely-hidden incredulity as she explained her mission and laid the portrait on his desk, feeling only the faintest hint of satisfaction as he picked it up, caught sight of the image with the eyes of shadow on its reverse side, and genuine concern crossed his features.

"I hope he's not here," he said quietly as she prepared to leave, sketches done up by a scribe in his hands, his brown eyes now reflecting her own unease.

Shaenae nodded ever so slightly. "So do I."

Her gaze went to the northeast once more as she stepped outside, the two sentinels who'd been assigned to her for this mission looking patently uncomfortable as they emerged into the cold. Tonight, they would rest in an inn. Tomorrow, they began the trek to Dalaran. Shaenae didn't bother to conceal the frown that crossed her lips. Her superiors might consider her relatively open-minded, but that didn't ease the ingrained distrust of wielders of arcane magic that she had known all her life.

"_We leave the rest to the humans_?" Iralia's expression was hopeful. Lofgryn glanced at her as well, but his dour expression said that he already knew her answer.

_"We leave for Dalaran tomorrow_," Shaenae said simply to her subordinates.

Ж

Mattran wasn't fond of mysteries. He grumbled as he sat on his desk, as always disdaining the chair, and finally dropped the letter requesting the "excellent and well-remarked upon services of one Nathiel Highfury" on the floor, watching it flutter like a dead bird.

He didn't like mysteries any more, hadn't since he'd helped start Vir Aegeae years ago. Mysteries were bad for business. The gnomish priest reached up and ran his hands through his thick, inky hair. He was intelligent. He _knew_ he was. The trouble was, you had to have facts before you could find out what exactly you were dealing with, needed to understand the workings of a thing before you could comprehend its nature.

He knew that floods of requests for someone with a good reputation as a hired blade didn't start coming in overnight. It started slowly, _very_ slowly, maybe one or two repeat customers requesting someone who'd done them particularly well, and of course you did your best to accommodate them so you'd get the repeat business, though you couldn't accommodate them _too_ often, because that led to a different set of problems, especially when someone who was paying better wanted the same merc.

He stared down at the creased piece of paper laying on the wooden floor of his office, and considered dropping down on top of it, maybe stomping it a few times for a little additional satisfaction.

"Don't forget dear, Nathiel is bringing his fiancé by tomorrow. We want the place to look good." Grendala pulled the gauntlets from her hands and tossed them onto a convenient pile of reports, drawing Mattran's gaze as she entered.

He'd always thought she was pretty for a dwarf, and she'd aged gracefully, auburn hair not even touched yet by gray, dancing blue eyes gleaming with merriment. Mattran frowned at his wife.

Grendala frowned back at him. "What?"

"He hasn't bought him a ring yet," Mattran said bluntly.

Grendala rolled her eyes. "He's also become a completely . . . well, maybe not completely, but definitely a _different_ man."

"How do you even know that?" Mattran asked crossly. "Granted, his sleeping patterns _have_ changed and he hasn't gone through the usuals here before going back to the bars for more, but it could be a phase."

Grendala rolled her eyes. "Stop picking a fight with me and tell me what's wrong. You know as well as I do that he's head over heels even if he can't see it yet. Hell, I knew it before _you_ did! You had to hear it from Reiyad!"

"People keep asking for him, and I _know_ someone's up to no good, but I can't figure out what it _is_!" Mattran threw up his hands, and then slid off the desk, scuffing his feet on the letter for emphasis. "Please the Light, I was a _holy_ _inquisitor_, Gren!" He folded his arms and scowled. "I can't send him out like this either to get him out of the way! He's sopping with so much lust it's practically oozing out his pores! He'd get the fares killed!"

Grendala smiled fondly and kissed him on the cheek. "It'll be so nice to finally see him settle down with a good boy."

"He said I can't do the wedding unless I agree not to swear," Mattran growled.

"No more strange young men dropping by the office," Grendala added.

Mattran sighed. "What does he think I am, a fucking saint?"

"Don't forget to tidy up," she said sweetly as she turned to leave.

"Maybe I'll just go to the damn reception." Mattran contemplated his wife's retreating backside, the sight having a slightly mollifying effect on his temper. "It's about time he got his shit squared away."

"I'll make sure your robes are clean," Grendala called over her shoulder. "And don't forget to dust!"

"Maybe I _like_ dust," he called after her, a faint smile starting to curve his mouth, and gave the letter another scuff. He turned back to his desk, heaved himself up onto it, and his eyes fell on the expeditionary estimates that smooth secretary girl had dropped off for the Ambassador. What had her name been again? Eana? Ellena? Erica?

He brought his head around, glanced at the letter on the floor, looked back at the neatly organized report with its fat bottom line that he'd circled twice in red, and his expression flattened, mood darkening all over again as a nasty suspicion occurred to him.

It couldn't be. There was no fucking way the two were related. Was there?

Of all the bull-fucking shit . . .

Ж

Nathiel felt himself rising from the drowsing half-sleep that had overcome him, a sort of languorous calm that slipped through his veins, drawing him into a not-quite-dream where his world, for an all too brief stretch of sweet, thoughtless time, was simply good.

It didn't vanish altogether, seemed to recede instead, ebbing but not departing. His eyes went to the clock on Ambryn's wall. It was a little after three in the afternoon, and he felt a hint of chagrin. They'd slept the day away. He looked down, and met Ambryn's lovely jade eyes, feeling a warm smile spread involuntarily over his lips, utterly relaxed, an answering smile curving those sweet, lush lips.

Nathiel kissed them, indulged in the taste of them, not with desperate need as he had this morning, but savoring them. He felt his body rousing once more, arms tightening around the human mage, and broke the kiss.

Ambryn blinked, jade eyes now dark and rich with pleasure, and his lips settled in a slight, unbelievably adorable pout that made Nathiel want to kiss him all over again.

It was a second kiss he almost didn't manage to break off.

"You have to get ready for dinner." The words came out husky, almost a growl. In spite of his words, Nathiel's embrace only tightened, hands sliding down to those wonderful buttocks once more, starting to knead.

Ambryn's eyelids were half-lowered. "Why," he asked as he pressed a kiss to Nathiel's bare chest, sending a flush of heat through the region where they graced his skin "do I have to do that?"

"I want to take you," Nathiel rasped. He was already as hard as steel again, unable to resist the urge to thrust his hips, cock rubbing against Ambryn's bottom.

"Take me," Ambryn whispered back, lips tracing a line down Nathiel's chest, over his sternum, leaving tiny blooms of sweet heat down his hard, flexing belly.

Nathiel rolled over, pinning Ambryn under him, kissed his mouth, and looked down at him, honey-golden hair fanning over the russet upholstery of the couch, jade eyes sultry, pale skin faintly flushed. He was between the human's spread legs. He could feel the head of his cock pressing against Ambryn's entrance.

"I want this to be special." The words were less protest than lament, and he readied himself, hands gripping the backs of Ambryn's knees.

Ambryn's eyes widened, arms closing around Nathiel's neck, and then he was levering himself up.

The kiss wasn't full of desperate passion. It was gentle, light and tender, a quick brush of his lips against Nathiel's, and then he was hugging Nathiel tight.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

And Nathiel was suddenly in control again, wrapping his arms gently around Ambryn as chagrin flushed through him. He chuckled ruefully after a moment. "Please don't think I don't want this, I-"

"I can feel it." Ambryn's tone was teasing. Nathiel's still-hard manhood was a thick, hot pole between them. "I was . . . in a hurry."

Nathiel pulled back so he could look once more into Ambryn's eyes. He brushed his lips against a soft cheek. "I think if it was anyone else . . . I would be too." He cupped Ambryn's face with his hand, felt genuine wonder at the way the jade eyes slid halfway closed, Ambryn nestling his cheek into his palm.

"You should go before I change my mind," Ambryn murmured.

"You mean before you change mine." Nathiel smiled tenderly, kissed the human on the brow, and rose.

The moment he was on the other side of the door, his hard-on stuffed into his pants and plainly visible to anyone who looked too far down, he was kicking himself. He almost turned around and knocked, his momentary urge to be noble disintegrating under the full weight of his raging libido. He took a deep breath, gathered his composure as manfully as was possible for any incredibly horny male, and walked uncomfortably towards the lift.

Ж

Ambryn waited until he was absolutely sure Nathiel was long gone to throw a bookend he'd never particularly thought much of at the closed door, a frustrated scowl on his features.

Feeling only slightly better afterward, and with a faintly embarrassed flush in his cheeks, he quietly picked up the book-end, none the worse for wear after its brief flight, and with a sigh, put it back in its place before going into his bedroom.

Ж

Half-expecting Belauq to still be lounging about the premises, lying in wait, Nathiel was relieved to find his apartment empty. His bed was even made, covers tight enough to bounce a coin off of, edges square. He barely gave the dusk-colored night-lily on the plumped pillow a glance, hastily stripping off his armor and gear, taking a long shower, regret over not taking an opportunity to bed Ambryn yet again turned to anticipation for tonight. It would be right when it happened.

He couldn't even explain it to himself, this sudden desire not to rush something that in all honesty, he'd always taken for granted before. But he knew when he looked at Ambryn that he didn't want to wake up to him just one morning and move on afterwards to the next partner. Maybe he was tired of the routine, and Ambryn was just a novelty, offering a chance at monogamy that Nathiel had never really experimented with, an idea that seemed new and exciting for precisely that reason.

Something deep inside him gave the thought a contemptuous look, gutted it, and shoved the corpse out of a window without a glance spared to see where it would land.

No. He wanted Ambryn, wanted to possess him, wanted to have Ambryn be his and his alone. There was something deeper there than mere conquest. He was determined to explore it.

Nathiel finished showering quickly now, aware of passing time, shaving, using the cologne he only bothered with when he was in the city, and dressed in a dark suit, the shirt a rich, dark maroon, and headed out again, ignoring the faintly disapproving look his landlady gave him, probably assuming he was out for another night at Shysters.

She couldn't have a clue that tonight he was going to taste something much sweeter.

Ambryn opened the door almost the moment Nathiel finished knocking. Nathiel didn't bother with a greeting, just wrapped an arm around Ambryn's waist, lifted him until their lips met, and explored that delightful mouth once more with his tongue.

Only afterwards, walking down the hall towards the lift, Ambryn against him, his arm around the human's ribs, did he take a moment to appreciate the pale blue fabric of the long-sleeved shirt, embroidered in darker blue with spare, tasteful geometric designs. The sleeves were long, stopping just past the knuckles, the shirt clearly tailored to compliment the lines of his torso, shapely but not overly thin, hem reaching the tops of his hips, the long, night-blue slacks dark.

Nathiel was already thinking of taking that shirt off, running his hands over the soft, pale skin beneath, seeing Ambryn flush with pleasure.

There was a bouquet of carnations waiting on the seat, about the closest thing to a "carnal" flower, at least in name, that Nathiel could think of. They spent most of the ride in the same place. Ambryn straddled Nathiel's hips, their lips locked, tongues dancing.

It was incredibly hard to muster a modicum of decorum when the carriage stopped in front of the Cerulean Lights. Nathiel buttoned his shirt back up and tucked it back in, and Ambryn glanced up and smiled.

It was as if the air changed with that smile, Nathiel's desire not diminishing, only becoming less immediate. The lust wasn't gone, but it was joined by tenderness, conjured by the memory of the last evening spent beneath the club's high, graceful ceiling. Ambryn's arm in his, Nathiel escorted him to the doors.

The maitre'd glanced up as the doorman ushered them inside, took in the sight of them, and inclined his head, bending slightly. "I would beg your indulgence for but a moment. Please, wait here."

Nathiel blinked, and glanced down to see a slightly pensive look on Ambryn's face.

"What is it?"

"I'm afraid we might run into someone I know," Ambryn said after a moment, giving him a sheepish look.

"Please don't make that sound like a bad thing, Ambryn dear."

Nathiel's head came up at the sound of that voice, and he watched her emerge from a curtained doorway, slim brass pipe in her fingers, a curl of blue tobacco smoke uncoiling between her withered lips. Her paling blond hair lay over one shoulder, sharply pointed ears plainly visible. Her faded blue eyes took them both in, and she smiled faintly.

"Aunt Adaliria." Ambryn's tone was abashed.

"He's my godson, _kal'dorei_, try not to look _too_ startled. I'm a friend of his mother's." The faded blue gaze never met Nathiel's. The high elf smiled. "It's been two years sweetheart. You'll forgive me, but I couldn't let you go again without at least saying hello this time."

Ambryn looked down. "After she died . . . I just . . ." The memory rose up, choking him, his mother's cold, pale face, body utterly still, surrounded by ice-blue silk and framed by dark mahogany. He still remembered the slightly sweet scent of tobacco smoke as he cried into a thin shoulder.

"You needed time to grieve. I understand." Adaliria nodded, and her expression turned wistful. "I've missed all of you terribly." She shook her head, forestalling Ambryn's words with a wave of her hand. "Enjoy your meal. It's on the house." She half-turned, and then hesitated. Her faded blue eyes seemed just a little brighter. "But come see me again?"

Ambryn crossed to her in a rush, holding her close, and after a moment her arms came around him. "Go," she murmured quietly. "Enjoy your night."

Ambryn nodded, letting her go, and wiped away the tears in his eyes. He ached, but in a good way. He looked back at Nathiel, but the big night elf just smiled at him.

Nathiel should have been irritated by the interruption. The longer they stood here in the foyer, the longer it would be until they ate, which meant they'd leave later, which meant they'd get to the hotel room he'd booked later, which meant he'd have to wait even longer until he was inside Ambryn. Instead, he felt strangely glad for his date, a sort of pleasure welling up in him at the sight of him reunited with someone he hadn't seen in a while, someone he obviously cared a great deal about.

He would have felt a slightly grudging gratitude if the old _quel'dorei_ had simply paid for their dinner, but seeing the way she'd just put back a piece of Ambryn that Nathiel hadn't even realized was missing actually woke a small bit of warmth in him towards her.

He took Ambryn once more in his arms, kissed him slowly, tenderly, gently.

It was hard to concentrate on the food, the wine, or the music, hard to focus on anything but Ambryn, sitting across from him, looking absolutely radiant, jade eyes full of joy, for all the world as if that last night they'd come here had returned, bringing that same, strange, dreamy magic that turned everything to perfection.

They ate, and they danced, and Nathiel relished the feel of Ambryn's hips rocking against him as they moved together, the music deep and rich, classy and yet intimate.

Nathiel bent his head, not caring if anyone saw them as he claimed Ambryn's mouth with his own, desire coiling in him, and reveled in the way the kiss was eagerly returned, no hesitancy in it this time. His lips, his body, everything responded without any sign of reservation. They moved like they'd been made for each other. The rest of the world stopped existing.

Nathiel's erection throbbed against his thigh, his whole body aching for Ambryn, craving him. His hands were cupped around those pillowy buttocks, hips grinding, his tongue in Ambryn's mouth. His restraint was in tatters. He couldn't hold back any longer. He lifted Ambryn in his arms, carrying him off the dance floor, toward the doors.

Nathiel didn't check to see if the carriage waiting outside had been ordered for anyone else, just threw open the door and lifted Ambryn inside. By the time they'd arrived at the front door of the hotel his shirt was all the way unbuttoned and his fly was halfway open. Ambryn was in his arms.

He almost spoiled it by making love to him right there in the lift, Ambryn's slacks around his knees, his finger massaging the gateway to Ambryn's body.

They just barely made it to the bed, and then Nathiel was stripping Ambryn's clothing off, shrugging out of his shirt as Ambryn's hands pushed it down off his shoulders, flinging his trousers to one side, and then they were both blessedly naked, the hot hard length of his long, thick penis a heavy weight on Ambryn's belly. He could feel his seed starting to ooze from its tip as he tangled his fingers in Ambryn's hair and claimed his mouth all over again.

Ambryn tried to wrap his fingers around it, but it was too big for them to close, still a good amount of space left between his thumb and fingers, and he felt Nathiel shudder with his touch, their tongues tangling. Big hands closed around his own, imprisoning them gently above his head.

For a breathless heartbeat, Nathiel just looked down at Ambryn, admiring him. He was glorious, a vision of unsurpassed beauty. His thick curls spilled across the pillow like rich, flowing honey, his pale face flushed with desire, full lips slightly parted. His jade eyes were glimpses onto primordial Ashenvale, the forest gripped in the full, heated throb of summer, lush and vibrant and alive, untainted, wild, majestic. His body was soft, a graceful conjunction of swells and curves and lines, not thin or plump, simply fully fleshed, everything perfectly aligned.

Ambryn marveled at the sight of his lover, rising above him like a great, dark god, his short, wild hair like the depths of the night sky, his flaring silver eyes, exotic and mysterious, the powerful muscles that played underneath his rich purple skin as he moved, his big body lean, defined, and strong, chiseled hips contrasting with the pale thighs he knelt between. His thick manhood lay atop Ambryn's own sex, hot and heavy and dark, the thick head reaching to the bottom of Ambryn's chest, clear fluid pooling in the slight hollow there.

Nathiel started with the tip of each of his human lover's fingers, kissing each soft pad, the insides of the knuckles, first the right, then the left, kissing the wrists, tonguing them. He starting to work his way down the inside of Ambryn's left forearm when Ambryn's mouth closed on his left nipple. His cock leapt, and he used one hand to hold Ambryn's wrist in place, his other thumb slipping into Ambryn's mouth to keep it from causing any more mischief that might make him come before he was inside of him.

Ambryn's tongue wrapped around the digit and he suckled in a distracting manner that was almost as bad for Nathiel's self-control. Nathiel gritted his teeth for a moment, but continued, working his way down to Ambryn's elbow, the inside of his bicep, laving his armpit with his tongue before dragging it across to a nipple, nipping and suckling tenderly, smiling as he listened to the human gasp.

He claimed Ambryn's mouth once more with his own, tongue teasing, swirling, dancing playfully before his mouth trailed down to Ambryn's throat, tongue lapping at the hollows, kissing the pulsing lines of his jugular, finding another nipple and lingering for a few moments before gliding along his shoulder to the right armpit, nuzzling there before continuing up the inside of the bicep again.

He could hear Ambryn panting beneath him, the sound soft and enthralling. He dug his tongue into the inside of Ambryn's elbow and was halfway up his forearm when he felt Ambryn lift his head.

Ambryn opened his mouth, and with his forehead pressed against Nathiel's granite-hard abdomen, was just able to get his lips around the eye of the night elf's massive shaft. He started to suck, and a slightly dark, somewhat salty taste filled his mouth.

Nathiel flung his head back with a grunt, felt his cock start to pulsate, and pulled away before he hit the point of no return and hosed the back of Ambryn's throat with his seed, pressing his lips against the soft mouth that had just been on his penis, moaning against Ambryn's lips at the taste of himself in the human mage's mouth.

There was no holding back anymore. He slipped two of his fingers into his mouth, massaged Ambryn's entrance, and began to press into him.

"Relax," he breathed, kissing Ambryn's face.

Ambryn opened up for him, and Nathiel stroked and massaged, his deft, practiced fingers going right to the place where-

Ambryn arched on Nathiel's finger, a sound of indiscriminate pleasure tearing itself from between his teeth as a thunderbolt of pleasure shot up his spine, elicited by Nathiel's touch within his body. He writhed, moving his hips to meet each thrust.

Nathiel added another finger, and then a third, until Ambryn was almost sobbing with pleasure in his arms, face gleaming with sweat, jade eyes unfocused. He withdrew his fingers, placed the head of his cock at Ambryn's entrance, and began to press inward, claiming Ambryn's mouth once more with his own.

He felt Ambryn tense underneath him, fight to relax, only to tense up again, straining to accommodate his girth. He steeled himself, and pushed harder.

The jade eyes went blank, a ululating cry echoing between their teeth, Ambryn's face contorting as Nathiel penetrated him.

Nathiel hesitated, started to pull out.

Ambryn wrapped his arms around Nathiel's neck, plunged his tongue into Nathiel's mouth, and kissed him beyond all self-control. There was nothing left in him but desperate animal need and burning desire, and he slid deeper.

Blinding pain turned to euphoric pleasure, a metamorphosis taking place deep within Ambryn's body, nerves switching from one extreme to the other as Nathiel sank into him, once again setting off fireworks inside his brain as those deft fingers had only moments ago, and Ambryn clung to him, needing this, wanting this with everything he was.

Each long, powerful stroke of Nathiel's manhood seemed to fuel something deep within him, as though a star had been birthed within his flesh in the place where the two of them were joined. Ambryn was filled with light and an expanding sense of pressure that continued to grow as Nathiel rocked harder into him, hips driving, making him over into a radiant being of heat and and unearthly glory, transforming both of them as they became one, swept up in the throes of their lovemaking. Raw, untrammeled energy pulsed within him, faster, _faster_, and he cried out with it.

Ambryn wasn't sure at what point heat had turned completely to transcendental light, at what point the universe had stopped existing. He felt it gradually reassembling itself around him in the aftermath, felt Nathiel's arms tight around him. He couldn't for all the world describe the totality of what he'd felt in that moment, knowing only that it had been something much grander than perfect bliss.

Nathiel held Ambryn tightly, afraid that if he let go or loosed his grip for even a moment, he would wake up and this would have all been a dream, reassuring himself with the weight in his arms, opening his eyes to see Ambryn's flushed, dreamy face. He'd never felt it like this before, this staggering release, this pure and perfect completion. It had never before felt so _right_.

Nathiel lowered his mouth to Ambryn's and kissed him long and deep, claiming him with it.

He never wanted to give this up.

Ambryn lay in Nathiel's embrace, his night elven lover still buried deep within him, Nathiel's seed nestled in his body, and held him close, breathing in the scent of him. He'd been afraid at first, but this . . . what they had just done . . . he couldn't have imagined anything more right, more perfect.

He felt complete.

When Nathiel kissed him again, there was a certain _gravitas_ about it, a heaviness unlike the passion of a moment ago.

"Don't leave me," Nathiel rasped, voice husky.

"Never." Ambryn looked up into Nathiel's blazing silver eyes, the affirmation written in his heart. The broad smile that swept across the night elf's face was infectious.

Ж

Nathiel smiled as he opened his eyes to the morning light streaming through the white-curtained windows, because Ambryn was still there in his arms. It hadn't been a dream, and his lover was still here, slumbering peacefully in his embrace. Ambryn hadn't left him.

Nathiel couldn't help himself. He reached over and caressed those beautiful curls, feeling them soft between his fingers, treasuring each satin lock. He kissed the pale forehead, looking down at the lovely jade eyes as they fluttered open.

"Sleep well?" he asked softly.

Ambryn smiled at him. "It's the best I've ever slept."

It was true. They'd made love eight times, and each time was as powerful and soul-shaking as the first. He'd fallen asleep with Nathiel still buried deep inside him, exhausted and replete.

"_I think I might love you,_" Nathiel said in Darnassian, watching the jade eyes blink.

Ambryn pressed a light kiss to Nathiel's hard chest. "What does that mean?"

"You have beautiful hair," Nathiel lied easily, smile deepening. "You have beautiful lips, and cheeks, and fingers . . . even toes."

"You have a beautiful . . ." Ambryn trailed off, and then his smile turned wicked. "Penis."

Nathiel lifted his eyebrows briefly, grin becoming salacious. "You like it, do you?"

"I do," Ambryn purred, reaching down to stroke the member in question.

He was on his back in half a heartbeat, Nathiel's mouth on his, big body between his legs. Nathiel entered him, cock rock-hard once more, relishing the silken warmth that enveloped him as he plunged into Ambryn's body.

There was no more pain, only sweet ecstasy, moans of pleasure caged in their joined mouths. Ambryn gave himself wholly over to it.

Nathiel sank all the way in, pulled almost all the way out, and thrust once more, setting up a slow, steady, demanding rhythm as Ambryn writhed beneath him. He pumped his throbbing shaft into Ambryn's flesh until the universe disintegrated once more into pure pleasure, distantly aware of his seed jetting into his lover's body, the evidence of Ambryn's own climax matting the hairs on his hard belly.

Ambryn felt reality return, looking up into Nathiel's satisfied expression.

"This is going to be good," the night elf said huskily.

It wasn't until late that morning, closer to noon really, that they finally vacated the room. The shower was far more steamy than warranted merely by the hot water by the time they were finally through, and they stopped at a restaurant for brunch.

"You know," Nathiel said, holding his fork in one hand, a devilish grin on his face. "We could postpone your introduction to Vir Aegeae, spend the rest of the day in bed."

"You don't think they'd be a little cross?" Ambryn smiled, leaning on one elbow. "Your friend Belauq seemed quite insistent."

Nathiel held in a flinch at the mention of the druid, smile slipping, jaw tightening.

Ambryn blinked, almost not certain he'd even seen the brief storm of emotion that had crossed Nathiel's face. His brow furrowed ever so slightly. "Is something wrong?"

Nathiel shook his head. "It doesn't matter." His smile returned after a moment. "They were pretty enthusiastic about meeting you though. I guess it'd be a shame to disappoint them." He reached across the table, clasping Ambryn's hand in his. "I'll come to your apartment to get you."

Nathiel's apartment was exactly as he'd left it yesterday evening. He hung up his suit, holding the breast up to his nose for a moment, smelling Ambryn's lingering scent, before putting it away, changing into more comfortable trousers and a light jacket over a plain shirt. His eye caught on the small stand where his spear stood, along with a few other weapons, including his glaive, and a few knives. He took one of the thicker knives, one-edged, but true, and stuck it in the back of his waistband.

He wasn't certain why he wanted the insurance, but it felt good to have it there, just in case.

Ambryn was waiting for him in his apartment lobby, wearing a loose-fitting green sweater with generous sleeves and flowing khaki trousers, smiling brightly as Nathiel came into sight.

The smile was infectious, waking an answering grin on Nathiel's face that he didn't try to suppress as he took the human mage in his arms. He couldn't resist those soft, inviting lips, and he took that invitation, finding warm welcome within.

"Come on." Nathiel's grin was slightly lascivious as he pulled back. "Before you change my mind."

Ambryn blushed faintly, jade eyes sparkling.

Ж

It felt _good_, walking down the street with his arm around Ambryn, surprisingly so. Nathiel felt oddly buoyant, for the first time getting an appreciation for the old cliché "walking on air" that one so often heard about. He felt strong, light, and Ambryn filled his arm perfectly. Once again, Nathiel marveled, it was as though Ambryn had been made with him in mind.

Vir Aegeae was headquartered in a square, bluff building of gray stone. It wasn't very pretty, the windows small and high in the walls, no graceful tile or dome for the roof, just a flat gray top, but it was serviceable and secure, hunkering there at the end of Gristmill lane. Despite its appearance, Nathiel had fond memories of the place.

Doors banded with steel opened onto the foyer, floored in more gray stone, Vir Aegeae's bronze and silver Star and Shield banner hanging on the wall to the right opposite the large fireplace. Nathiel's lips quirked as he took in all the people who were waiting there.

Reiyad grinned broadly as he stepped forward. "We almost thought you weren't coming Nath."

"It was harder than usual to get myself out of bed this morning." Nathiel squeezed Ambryn lightly, enjoying the flush of color that rose to his cheeks. His gaze went back to Reiyad, only noticing then that he looked slightly more . . . _formal_ than usual. His long azure hair was pulled neatly back and braided with leather studded with silver, buttons on his collared shirt.

He shook Reiyad's hand, and Kuma came forward, wearing what was unmistakably a dress, a sapphire pendant at her throat, a smile on her pale ice-blue face. Her husband Mohirn was at her elbow, like Reiyad wearing a formal collared shirt and slacks.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she said brightly, extending a hand to Ambryn. "I'm Kuma."

"It's an honor." Ambryn met her smile with his own, gently taking her hand.

Nathiel glanced over the assemblage, which was frankly larger than he'd expected. Everyone was dressed up slightly. Glorfinnen and his brothers Hlastus and Raeln stood off to one side, the three _kal'dorei_ wearing matching shirts. Hlastus was another fellow guildmate who, like Belauq, had shared Nathiel's bed on more than once occasion, but the trio didn't look irritated or surly.

Norist was there, along with her partner Delene, also _kal'dorei_, the priestess and the huntress wearing gowns that Nathiel himself wasn't accustomed to seeing on them. Forst was also present, the human paladin wearing the polished bronze breastplate he wore for special occasions, and Bandrin wore a formal tunic, his boots polished. Even Sillesto was in attendance, the human mage wearing a respectable red robe rather than the frayed brown one he typically wore.

Nathiel kept counting, and his eyes widened, because the assemblage here had to be all of Vir Aegeae that wasn't out on a mission. Grendala appeared, wearing a _dress_, and Nathiel could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen that. Mattran was right behind her, the gnome's pitch black hair still standing up in spikes, but his robes were clean and he had to have washed his face and hands, because the ubiquitous ink that normally blotched both was notably absent.

Also notably absent was a certain golden-eyed _kal'dorei_ druid.

"So you're him." Mattran stumped forward, brushing aside his employees. "Mattran Helfenheimler. I run the agency."

"I'm Ambryn Dellani. It's an honor to meet you sir." Ambryn's smile was polite, jade eyes warm.

Mattran stopped and blinked. "Ambassador Dellani's son?"

Ambryn's smile waned, and he swallowed, looking down. "We're . . . estranged."

Ж

There was a long, awkward silence, punctuated by Mattran's sharp "_hnh._" The gnome priest blinked, eyes narrowing, as another piece of the puzzle clicked into place, suspicion crystallizing into certainty. The Ambassador was definitely involved, there was no doubt about it, and if Mattran's hunch was correct, he was putting more than a little effort into getting Nathiel out of the city and away from his offspring.

Maybe worse.

"He know you're here?" Mattran asked bluntly.

"I'm sorry." The jade eyes were turning dark, moisture gathering at the corners, color draining from the faintly blushing cheeks. "Perhaps I should go. I-"

"Oh don't be ridiculous dear!" Grendala's shoulder almost sent Mattran sprawling, completely interrupting his thoughts as she shoved him out of the way. "We're all so very pleased to finally meet you! It's taken Nathiel forever to find the right one to settle down with-" A loud chorus of laughter interrupted her announcement. "And we already paid for the catering besides! Come in! Nathiel's been keeping us all in suspense!"

She wasn't kidding about the suspense, Mattran thought somewhat sourly. It wasn't that he hadn't had his suspicions, but it was another thing entirely to have them all but confirmed. The question was, how far would the Ambassador be willing to go to keep his son from Nathiel? He hadn't resorted to violence yet, but even without that, someone in his position could still make life _very_ difficult for someone he found disfavor with.

Whether it be one mercenary, or a whole guild full of them.

Mattran's thoughts went back to the dossier on his desk even as another part of his mind picked up the way Nathiel seemed instinctively oriented on the Dellani boy as they walked and provided further verification of his own hypothesis that the relationship between the two of them wasn't just serious, but _very_ serious.

And they'd met maybe two months ago?

Under ordinary circumstances, Mattran would have said it was too early to tell, but in Nathiel's case, the circumstances were already certifiably extraordinary.

Which was why Mattran was hesitating.

Nathiel and his other employees weren't quite children to him, but he _did_ feel a sort of paternal protectiveness towards them. These were people he worked with and depended on, and who depended on him to make sound decisions.

So he wasn't quite as inclined as he might have been otherwise to tell Nathiel to drop the Dellani boy like a politically hot potato before his papa got them all thrown into prison.

Then too, there was the fact that Tybalt Dellani hadn't done exactly that already.

Mattran stared at the gray stone floor he'd had washed only this morning just for the occasion (because the Light only knew when it had been washed last) and frowned.

Grendala found him still standing there five minutes later.

"He's almost _too_ sweet," she said plainly. "I don't think he's going to be able to handle Nathiel. I also don't think Nathiel would let even an angry flight of dragons come between them." There was a moment of silence. "Dear. Come join the rest of us."

"Can't." Mattran grunted and turned towards his office to get a certain dossier. "I have to go to the Darnassian Embassy."

Grendala's eyes narrowed. "The business from yesterday?"

Mattran nodded absently. Strong hands latched onto his collar and the seat of his pants, there was a grunt, and suddenly he was parallel with the ceiling, no longer moving under his own power.

"Party first dear. Business later," Grendala said below him.

Mattran let out a sigh. "Yes dear."

Ж

"Don't worry about the boss," the big night elf with the silver eyes and azure hair said with a grin, tapping the side of his head. "He forgets he's talking to you sometimes and starts thinking, and then there's just no stopping him." He held out a glass of something, probably wine.

Ambryn accepted it and smiled gratefully at . . . Reiyad, wasn't it? "I really appreciate your hospitality," he said warmly.

"So how did the two of you meet?" It was the draenei shamaness, Kuma, the one with the pretty hair. Ambryn liked her already.

"He saved my life." Ambryn bit his bottom lip. "I was on my way home from getting groceries for dinner and . . ."

"And that's one troll that won't be coming back for seconds." Nathiel was only a little ways away, and he slid his arm around Ambryn, noting the way his shoulders had tensed ever so slightly. Kuma seemed to understand, because she quickly changed the subject.

"So you two've been seeing each other for . . .?"

"Almost two months now," Nathiel said with a broad grin, hand resting on Ambryn's hip. He looked down into those jade eyes, and suddenly had a burning desire to kiss him again. He was starting to lower his head when heard Mohirn chuckle, and glanced around to see a number of his comrades regarding him with knowing looks, smiles on their faces. He gave them a broad, unapologetic grin.

Ambryn blushed all over again, and Nathiel watched the color rise into his cheeks, tracing one with the tip of his finger, getting a warm smile in return.

"Excuse me."

Nathiel turned, and suppressed a grimace at the sight of his employer, because Ambryn obviously wasn't equipped to deal with the gnome's plainspoken manner.

"Sorry for making you feel awkward."

The second time he opened his mouth, there was just as much silence, this time slightly surprised.

Ambryn blinked, clearly startled. "No, I mean, you couldn't have known-"

"I had my suspicions." Mattran cut him off. "But it doesn't matter." He held out his arms in a welcoming gesture. "We _are_ glad to have you here, and we hope Nathiel will bring you back." He glanced around, sharp eyes blinking. "Now where's the food?"

Ж

"Mattran can be a little . . ." Nathiel trailed off as they walked around the street corner. It was getting on towards evening, the sun already behind the rooftops, streaking the sky with bright gold and orange and pale purple.

"Blunt?" Ambryn smiled wanly up at him and shook his head. "He has a right to know. It's prudent for him to be fully aware of just who he has under his roof, especially when it could have unpleasant consequences."

Nathiel stopped and blinked. "Because you're out of favor with your father?"

"Honestly, that's not really new. It's just . . . official now." Ambryn's smile failed.

Nathiel wrapped his arms around Ambryn and pulled him close, just holding him, and felt Ambryn relax against him.

"Nathiel?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you stay with me tonight?"

Nathiel grinned and lowered his head, meeting Ambryn's lips with his own. "I was kind of looking forward to it," he murmured huskily.

Ж

* * *

**Author's Post-Script Notes:**

Well, I know a lot of you were waiting for Nathiel and Ambryn to finally hook up. I honestly debated how detailed I actually wanted it to be, but someone's bedroom antics tell you a little more about their personality and . . . oh who the hell am I kidding? After nine chapters, it wouldn't have been satisfying to just say "they made love."

If any of this felt as obligatory to the rest of you as it did to me, my apologies. Rest assured we're on the way to the next interesting part, but we have to actually get through the other stuff first.

I leave you with my customary request for constructive criticism and ideas where I can improve my writing. Help me be a better writer, and I'll give you better stuff to read.


	11. Act I Scene X: Polite Company

**Author's Notes:**

**!This Chapter Contains K'dzok!**

(Located in the latter half of the chapter.)

It's going to be **more** K'dzok than usual in fact.

If you have a tender disposition, do **not** read K'dzok.

He is **not** a nice troll.

* * *

Act I Scene X

In Polite Company

"Do I look like I'm not a jerk?" Reiyad grimaced, glancing down at his collared gray shirt. The top button was left undone, the other two snugly closed across the _kal'dorei_ hunter's broad chest. He had a black vest on over it, and his boots had a dull gleam beneath his slacks. He eyed Nathiel's trousers, comfortable boots, light coat, and plain shirt with a slightly worried air.

Nathiel gave him a slightly irritable look. "Does it matter?"

"Nath, if he thinks I'm a jerk, he won't let you hang out with me any more," Reiyad complained, features fixing in a scowl. "You remember what happened with Laous? He met Sylveid, dated her for three months, married her after six, and now we practically never see him."

"She's got an amazing ass," Nathiel replied with a shrug. "Big breasts, slim waist. We never see him because he's busy porking her. They've _got_ five kids."

"Yeah," Reiyad's eyes glazed slightly, obviously recalling the sight of the _kal'dorei_ female in question. "She's amazing in bed. I'd probably be in her pussy all the time too if . . ." He shook his head and cleared his throat. "You told him to bring a friend didn't you?"

"It's probably going to be another guy." Nathiel raised his eyebrows. "You thinking about a little _anath'tei'sei_?"

Reiyad shrugged. "I might if he's pretty enough. Ambryn _is_ pretty cute. I wouldn't be surprised if he's got some nice-looking friends."

Nathiel wasn't surprised by the open admission that Reiyad might be interested in something outside his usual gender proclivity.

As long-lived as the _kal'dorei_ were, it was more unusual to find someone who hadn't shared bedroom pleasure with someone of the same sex as well as the opposite. The appetite for sexual novelty never truly wore off no matter the race, and after the first hundred and fifty years you didn't define yourself so much by your own sex. _Kal'dorei_ society by-and-large expected it, especially when the heavy majority of the males, in previous ages almost exclusively forming the ranks of the druids, had slumbered in their barrows. The females they'd left behind had vastly outnumbered the remaining males, and among the males it was to be expected as well, though before the return of the male druids it had been rarer. Nature had its own courses, and Elune's light shone down on all unions the same.

Such couplings were referred to as _anath'tei'sei_, literally translating as "favored-in-kind."

That wasn't to say that individuals didn't have their preferences, just as one might find lavender eyes more appealing than indigo or rose, or light hair over dark. Nathiel wasn't as fond of females as of well-favored males, but he wasn't totally averse to them either.

"Besides," Reiyad continued. "It's not as awkward that way. He won't feel outnumbered."

Nathiel's eyebrows rose briefly at that, but he let the comment lie unchallenged. Even if he preferred Ambryn's company to his fellow mercenary's, it didn't need to be said. "Let's go, or we'll be late to pick them up for lunch."

Ж

"Well . . . how do I look?" Annatta had her lower lip caught between her teeth, expression openly apprehensive. Her pale blond hair was curled, soft and silky and gleaming gently beneath her broad hat, her skirt and waist-coat a pale, baby blue, her blouse snowy white. A single sapphire hung at her throat, suspended by a delicate silver chain. She looked ready for a formal meeting of some sort.

"Lovely," Ambryn said with a warm smile. "It's a little formal for lunch, but it gives a great first impression."

He saw her gaze linger on the much more casual loose green sweater he wore over his shirt and his flowing gray slacks, and winked at her. "I think you'll blow them out of the water."

She pursed her lips. "Are you sure this isn't a little early? The _k__al'dorei_ and _q__uel'dorei_ . . . you know we have a . . . certain history? I just . . . don't want to make things awkward."

"You won't." Ambryn rolled his eyes and waved it off, even though that particular concern had occurred to him as well. Nathiel had specified that he should bring a friend and . . . well . . . to be perfectly honest, he really only had the one.

"He said I should bring a friend and . . . well, you're it," he admitted with a blush. He stepped forward and took her left hand in both of his. "_Please_ come with me?"

Annatta blushed as well, and nodded after a moment. "I did say I would." She smiled brightly, though he could see she was having to make an effort to do so. "We'll make it work."

"Thank you," he said warmly, gratitude entirely genuine. "You're a life-saver Annatta."

Ж

Nathiel had eyes only for Ambryn, stepping forward and twining his fingers in those soft honey curls, tilting his lover's head back for a long, deep, sweet kiss. He looked down into those lovely jade eyes and smiled as that pretty mouth curved in answer.

He completely missed the way Reiyad tensed as he caught sight of Ambryn's friend, barely even registered her presence as he settled his arm around the human.

He lifted his gaze, caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye, and his smile slipped for half a heartbeat as he met her unblinking gaze, her eyes clear and blue as a high, cloudless sky at midday in the heart of winter. The _q__uel'dorei_ inclined her head slightly, expression remaining reserved. Her clothing echoed that reserve - a little bit formal for the occasion.

"Nathiel, I'd like you to meet Annatta. Annatta, this is the man I've told you so much about." Ambryn smiled, blushing slightly.

Annatta's smile was faint. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir. I feel almost as though I know you already."

Nathiel nodded shortly. "Nice to meet you. This is Reiyad." He looked back at his friend.

Reiyad's expression clearly stated that his hopes of meeting someone to be come romantically involved with had been completely crushed and he was wondering if he shouldn't have packed a weapon instead. His tone was neutral. "Hello."

Ambryn held his breath as he watched Nathiel's expression flicker, apprehension surging. He almost let out a sigh of relief when those silver eyes returned to him, the smile on the handsome face warming once more.

"Ready to go?" Nathiel hitched up his smile as he met Ambryn's apprehensive gaze, and was rewarded with a look in return that was equal parts gratitude and relief. It made his heart beat faster, seeing the way Ambryn responded to him, and he felt the slightest bit smug at seeing the human clearly craving his approval. It wasn't hard to be generous.

Ж

Nathiel Highfury, the man whom all her plans hinged on, both exceeded and fell short of her expectations as she studied him. His was powerfully built, tall even for a _kal'dorei_, standing almost a head over his azure-haired comrade, body well-muscled but still lean. He held himself with the graceful, deadly air of a born killer, his big hands deft on Ambryn's body, his touch possessive.

She wasn't able to help the way her skin crawled at seeing the way the big male casually laid claim to Ambryn's mouth. She wondered if Ambryn even noticed the way those glowing silver eyes devoured him, the look in them announcing that the _kal'dorei_ was stripping him naked in his mind, feasting on him. The thoughts behind that handsome face were transparent to her, the blatant lust in them enough to make her blood heat as they walked to the lift.

Ambryn called him a gentleman, but she saw a lusting male intent on getting a piece of ass. That lusting male was also clearly a warrior of the genuine persuasion. She had no doubt he'd killed before, done so remorselessly, and would do so again.

She'd just met him, she needed him desperately for her plan to work, and all she really wanted to do was slap him.

Or shove him off a cliff.

"So have you and Ambryn . . . known each other long?"

That was the other _kal'dorei_, Reiyad. She was grateful, because he was clearly the reason for her presence and had provided her with an excuse to meet Nathiel in person, and at the same time, he made her uncomfortable by the simple virtue of his race. It was only mildly mollifying to know that she probably made him uncomfortable for the same reason. That didn't stop her from wishing that he'd quit making the attempt to be friendly though.

She forced a polite, though still cool smile onto her lips and turned to meet his gaze, hoping he'd chalk it up to nervousness and not a vague sense of distaste. "A little over a year and a half. We work in the same Circle."

He nodded, a hint of a smile curving his own lips. "So you're a mage too then."

"Yes." She studied him for a moment. He was handsome enough, she supposed, trim and muscular, face fine in the manner of their peoples, with a straight, proud nose, a strong jaw, chiseled cheekbones and a well-favored brow, but there was no appeal there for her. "How long have you and Nathiel been acquainted?"

"Oh, about a hundred and fifty years now." Reiyad shrugged casually. "He's kind of like a brother to me, really." Abruptly his smile deepened, silver eyes going to the couple walking ahead of them. "It's good to see him so happy. A lot of us that knew him weren't sure he'd ever find someone he'd settle on. Before he met Ambryn, he . . ." He cleared his throat. "Well, it's good to see him with someone he really cares about."

It wasn't hard for Annatta to reach the logical conclusion. Nathiel was a rake. She couldn't help her eyes from narrowing slightly as her gaze went to the big _kal'dorei_'s back, though she managed to hold in the snarl. "He seems to make Ambryn happy as well," she managed, though not as gracefully as she'd have liked. It rubbed her slightly raw that _that_ was true, not because she hadn't known it after looking at Ambryn turn starry-eyed so many times as he talked about how smart and charming and intelligent and thoughtful and gracious Nathiel was, but because actually saying it when the _kal'dorei_ seemed to be dispossessed of all those qualities in her eyes made bile want to rise to the back of her throat.

The mention of how long Reiyad and Nathiel had known each other raised another question.

"How old is he?"

Reiyad blinked and glanced over at her. "Nath? I think he's around seven hundred and . . . fifty-six?"

Annatta mentally added _lecher_ to her quickly-growing list of Nathiel's iniquities and short-comings, and fought to keep her hands from clenching into fists.

The lift was awful. Nathiel pulled Ambryn into his arms as he leaned back against the filigree and kissed him, not deeply, but lightly, pulling back briefly before kissing him again, the two of them smiling into each other's eyes as though it were some sort of lovers' game as they repeated it. Reiyad had a grin on his face, eyes averted, clearly thinking nothing of it. No, she corrected mentally, he _approved_ of it.

At least Ambryn blushed when they reached the lobby when Nathiel reached down and adjusted the massive bar in his trousers. The _size_ of it was almost enough to make Annatta choke, and the thought of Nathiel and Ambryn . . . she had to squeeze her eyes shut for a moment and take a deep, cleansing breath. She opened them to see Reiyad giving her a knowing grin, clearly under the impression that she was impressed rather than appalled.

Her cheeks were still red as they left the building lobby and stepped into the street.

"You know," Reiyad murmured in a lower voice. "It's probably good you and I are getting to know each other now. Y'know, the best man and the bride's maid."

"Yes," Annatta said faintly. "Lucky."

She was going to go through with it, but by the Light she didn't want to. She didn't want to give Ambryn into the arms of this ancient elf who'd bedded who knew how many others in three quarters of a millenia. Give? In all honesty, she'd pushed him there! Her guilt let out a roar, struggling with its shackles, fighting its bonds, threatening once more to be free.

_This is terrible_, it whispered to her, _no matter the end, how can any good come of sacrificing him to this deadly elder elf? Will you really give up the one you were starting to fall in love with? Are you truly willing to sacrifice him to attain this goal?_

Annatta felt her face tighten, fighting back the tears. She folded her arms to hide her clenched fists and choked back the words that burned in the back of her throat, the admission that she'd orchestrated all of this, that she was planning to give Ambryn up to this fate in exchange for her ambitions.

"Are you alright?" Reiyad's tone was faintly concerned. "You look cold." He shrugged out of his vest and draped it across her shoulders. "Here. That'll help you stay warm."

"Thank you," she said quietly, gathering the fleece-lined garment around her.

"I . . . look, maybe I shouldn't have mentioned the wedding already. I mean – I can't honestly imagine anything else between the two of them, but I know females can get . . . emotional over the subject." The _kal'dorei_'s expression had turned slightly worried.

"No that's . . . it's fine." Annatta cleared her throat. "I'm fine," she said more firmly.

"To be honest with you, it's kind of sudden for us too." Reiyad's gaze went back to the couple ahead of them. Ambryn was leaning against Nathiel, and the big _kal'dorei_ had his head bent slightly towards him. He was saying something. Annatta heard Ambryn chuckle warmly, the sound sweet and warm, and above all . . . _happy_.

"But you know," Reiyad continued. "I kind of envy him, after all those years, finally finding the one. They just . . . it's like they were made for each other."

They _did_ look as though they'd been made for each other. Annatta could see it. She didn't need to see Ambryn's face to call to mind the way his entire face lit up, eyes shining like something softer and more precious than pale emeralds whenever he talked about Nathiel. She recalled the way his magic had changed from the sleepy, gentle warmth to something lovely and effervescent, glimmering with vibrant life after that day they'd met. Nathiel made Ambryn happy, _truly_ happy, and she knew it.

But that didn't stop her from wishing it wasn't him, not this big, graceful, handsome killer who'd lived three quarters of a millenia and looked at Ambryn as though he hungered to do something far worse than simply devour him whole. She saw those large, powerful hands on Ambryn's gentle, fragile body, and she dreaded seeing them crush the life out of him.

"So you two are mercenaries?" Her tone came out a little colder than it probably should have, but Reiyad just shrugged, hands tucked into his pockets.

"Yeah, for Vir Aegeae." The _kal'dorei_'s grin returned. "We're bodyguards mostly. You can bet Ambryn will be well looked-after. Nathiel and I – we've been through some pretty hairy scrapes, but the fare's always made it out alive." He winked. "Well, in one shape or another anyway. See, there was this one time we were taking a draenei mage to Shattrath city . . ."

Annatta let his words wash over her. Her gaze remained fixed on the human mage and _kal'dorei_ warrior who walked ahead of them, each clearly enraptured by the other, her blue eyes intent as she thought hard and fast.

It was the strangest, small little gesture that drew her back from simply grabbing Ambryn and running out of the restaurant, keeping her from leaping off that precipice into ruin for all of her plans.

Nathiel pulled out Ambryn's chair for him, took his hand as though it were finest porcelain as he sat, and held onto it as he took his own seat, taking it ever so carefully between both of his own larger hands and gently kissing the back of the knuckles.

Annatta shook her head, realized that Reiyad was standing by a chair, clearly intent on repeating what _was_ unmistakably a gentlemanly maneuver, and she allowed him to assist her, though (to her private relief) he didn't try to hold her hand.

"There now, all settled," he said with a grin.

Annatta barely glanced at him. She was too busy watching the way Nathiel and Ambryn interacted, suddenly realizing that there _was_ tenderness there, more than mere carnal lust. For the first time, she really _looked_ at Nathiel, saw the way his silver eyes blazed brighter with Ambryn's smiles, the curve of his own lips deepening, the way he was intent not just on the human's body, but on Ambryn himself.

It made her think that there might just be the slightest possibility that she'd misjudged him on first sight.

Maybe.

Reiyad seemed to understand that she wasn't truly interested in conversation with him, turning to Ambryn instead.

For his part, Ambryn himself seemed to think nothing of the fact that they'd known each other for much much longer than he'd even been alive, and Annatta watched as he responded to the other _kal_'_dorei_ with that same, simple, sincere warmth, welcoming and willing to be engaged. She watched as Reiyad drank it in, as Nathiel did as well, and for a moment, she wondered if she was truly the one orchestrating all this, or if it was Ambryn who was drawing them all into a web of his own making.

Except that she knew, without even thinking about it, that there was no ulterior motive in Ambryn, no ambition, just that kindness, that warmth, instinctive and even somehow . . . _wholesome_. It wasn't a word she often thought of. It wasn't one she was accustomed to using in reference to anyone but a priest or priestess of the Light, but it was unmistakably Ambryn.

Her guilt came back, rushing over her like a tidal wave, and she had to fight it back, closing her eyes with a rueful smile, because she was being outwitted by someone who didn't know the stakes, wasn't even aware that they were the very centerpiece in a game that could decide the fate of the remnants of an entire people.

"Annatta?" Ambryn's voice was gentle. "Is everything alright?"

Annatta opened her eyes, and smiled at Ambryn, tears in her eyes. The words that came from her lips were a half-truth. "I'm just . . . so glad you're happy."

She couldn't speak the rest. The words were like acid in the back of her mouth.

_But I wish it were with me._

Ж

Nathiel held Ambryn close, hating, as always, the moment he had to let him go.

"I'll be back this evening," he said softly in Ambryn's ear.

"I'll wait for you." Ambryn stayed pressed against his chest, eyes half-closed. "And . . . thank you. For taking us to lunch."

Nathiel almost smiled, because he could practically hear the subtext. _Thank you for not stabbing my friend even though there's been bad blood between your people for millenia_.

"You're welcome." He pulled back slightly, lifted Ambryn's chin gently with his fingertips, and kissed his sweet lips, fighting the urge to pick him up, carry him inside, shut the door with Reiyad and Annatta still out in the hall, and make love to him there on the couch.

That would have to come a little bit later.

When he pulled back, Ambryn's face was faintly flushed, jade eyes shining. Nathiel couldn't seem to get his heart to slow down.

"I uh . . ." He glanced over his shoulder. "Well, we'll walk your friend home."

He turned back around, and couldn't resist one more kiss before he let Ambryn go, letting out a long, slow, deep breath after the door had closed. Then he glanced down at the small, slender _quel'dorei_ female and tried to give her his friendliest smile.

"Well, shall we?"

She looked right back at him with those piercing, bright blue eyes, and nodded after a moment. She didn't smile back. The walk back to the lift was awkward and silent. The ride down was just as uncomfortable.

"So . . ." Nathiel pursed his lips. "You work in the same Circle as Ambryn."

"Yes. He means a great deal to me." She didn't look up as they stepped out of the lift, leading the way out of the lobby and into the street. Then she stopped, looking up at him, clearly not intimidated by his much greater stature. "I'd like to speak with you in private for a moment."

Nathiel blinked. "Okay. We're not exactly . . ."

Annatta didn't wait, leading the way toward the mouth of an alley a little distance away. Nathiel exchanged a look with Reiyad, who shrugged. He'd offered her his vest again on the walk back, but she'd coolly and politely declined. They turned and followed.

"Stay here," Nathiel said quietly at the mouth of the alley. The _quel'dorei_ was waiting a little further down, staring at the wall as though she intended to burn a hole through it. He glanced at her, and then reached down and took the knife out of his boot, handing it to Reiyad, who blinked, and then nodded.

"What'd you want to talk about?" Nathiel didn't try to smile this time. In all honesty, he felt the first mild beginnings of irritation.

She looked at him once more with that flat stare. "Do you know Ambryn at all, or are you just after a piece of ass?"

The sting of his knuckles told him he'd just punched the wall, her words an eerie and altogether unwelcome echo of Belauq's. He drew in a deep breath, pulled back his fist, and studied the back of his hand before lifting his gaze to her. The straw-haired, water-eyed bitch didn't look intimidated in the slightest. "Get to the point," he growled, all his good intentions of trying to be friendly and make a good first impression tossed out the window.

"That _is_ the point." Her voice only got colder. "Is there anything in him you value besides lust? Can you tell me _one_ quality about him besides his looks?"

Nathiel blinked, taken completely aback. He shook his head. "What kind of-"

"Not _even_ one?" Her expression turned to a frigid glower. Nathiel stepped back, fumbled for something to say . . . and remembered the first day he'd met Ambryn.

He'd been terrified, shaking like a leaf, but he'd stood his ground, facing down Nathiel himself, arguing for the life of that damned troll..

_Please don't. I wouldn't have his death on your hands for my sake._

_I didn't do it for you. I did it for him, because he shouldn't have had to stop you in the first place._

And suddenly it was as though Ambryn was present, only in a way Nathiel had never known – no, known but never _thought_ about before. It was a sweet wash of memory, made even sweeter by realization.

Nathiel smiled.

"He's brave," he said simply.

_Wolves broke from the trees, plunging through the snow, kicking it up in a white wake. The Orcish riders slowed and came to a halt in a semi-circle around Ambryn a respectful distance away, probably waiting for a spell._

"He's incredibly brave." Nathiel shook his head. "And just." He looked up at her, saw the ice in her features melt, for all the world as though even here, Ambryn's warmth touched her as well. "And kind."

_Nathiel please, please don't do this in cold blood!_

_Ambryn's answer was sweet, tender, the words unimportant, the emotions underlaying them balm to Nathiel's soul, and when he began to sing, Nathiel could only remain there where he was, on his knees, spell-bound, because he could feel the feeling returning to his body, feel the dream rising around him again._

"He makes me believe in goodness. He makes me believe . . . that there really is a happy ending." Nathiel's smile widened, and his gaze turned to her once more.

Ж

The moment Nathiel smiled, Annatta knew for certain that Ambryn was well and truly lost to her, because Nathiel had stopped speaking to her, had started speaking to his memories, his expression that of a man who had received an epiphany, like one awakened to a true realization of the Light.

He was in love.

He might not realize it yet, but she could see it there, in his eyes. She could hear it in his voice.

It was like painful fire in her heart, a blazing conflagration, like dragonfire.

"All that?" She swallowed, a rueful smile on her lips, tears stinging her eyes, because she realized abruptly that he saw, like she did, to Ambryn's golden heart.

And it hurt. It hurt like a dagger in her breast, because that was a place he could truly reach, and she could only stand a little distance away, never able to truly and fully bridge that gap. Ambryn would never love her the way he loved the _kal'dorei_.

The way Nathiel loved him back.

She let go of the flames, let them burst outward, shrieking and elemental as they raced over her clothing and her skin.

Ж

Nathiel flinched back from the sudden heat, shielding his eyes from the light of it as the _quel'dorei_ female erupted in brilliant golden flames that raced over her body and gilded her with radiance but did not consume her.

"If you hurt him - if you _ever_ make him cry, I will bring him your smoldering bones."

There was no threat in the words, only grim promise, her tone completely even. Her blue eyes met his through the golden flames, and after a moment, he lowered his hand and nodded.

The fire guttered, died, and she swept past him without another word, not a hair on her head or a thread of her clothing singed or out of place, not even sparing a glance for Reiyad at the mouth of the alley, naked knife in hand, obviously ready to throw.

Nathiel followed a bit more slowly, still lost in thought. His gaze followed her down the street, her walk graceful, even sedate, as though she hadn't just turned into a blazing sorceress intent on blasting him into charcoal if he wavered for even a heartbeat.

"I was thinking about dating her . . ." Reiyad said slowly. "But after seeing that . . . not so much."

Nathiel glanced at him. "Oh?"

"It'd be pretty hot, but can you imagine having to buy a new bed every time you banged her?" Reiyad grinned at him. "You'd spend a fortune in bedroom furnishings."

Nathiel shook his head, but he grinned as well.

Ж

Annatta didn't allow the tears to start falling until she'd turned the corner, pulling a kerchief from her handbag as she leaned against the wall and sobbed, ignoring the looks of passersby. She'd almost lost it. She couldn't let herself do it, couldn't let Ambryn be despoiled by a man who didn't love him, who wouldn't care for him.

Except she'd seen in Nathiel the certainty that he wouldn't allow anything to happen to Ambryn, would stand between him and any danger. The graceful killer would put an end to anything and anyone that threatened the honey-haired human mage. She knew it just as surely as she knew she would do the same in a heartbeat.

She'd jeopardized everything in a moment of fury.

She looked up at the early afternoon sky, and she wondered if perhaps she wasn't alone in her quest, if some god or goddess was helping her to succeed, because that was what she'd done, in spite of herself, in spite of her own desires and misgivings, and worst of all, in spite of the way she was coming to want something else entirely.

Deep inside, she wondered if she'd ever find someone to love her back.

She shook the thought away, straightening, and patted her face dry. She lifted her shoulders and her chin, gathering her composure around her like a royal train, and started walking, whispering under her breath.

"I am Quel'dorei. I am a descendant of KingDath'Remar Sunstrider. I will feed upon nothing but the sun. I will feed upon only purity. I will not be corrupted."

Somehow, the familiar words seemed like cold comfort.

Ж

In the dimness, his curly hair could be mistaken for honey-colored rather than an unremarkable brown, and even if the curls weren't luxurious, they were long enough to tangle his fingers around. His face down in the pillow, K'dzok could pretend his visage was soft and smooth rather than roughened by exposure to weather with a thick mustache above his upper lip.

His breath came in gasps and grunts, K'dzok's arm around his throat restricting his access to oxygen, his hands manacled and bound to the headboard. The room was thick with the scent of mint oil that K'dzok had dumped liberally on his muscular body, mingling deliciously with the smells of sweat and sex and blood.

He slammed his hips harder against the human knight's muscled ass, pounding the thick, throbbing length of his cock into the loosened hole, lubricated with blood and his seed, his balls slapping against the human's tanned flesh. He was getting close again.

He lowered his head, tusks digging in, pressing his teeth into one shoulder, and fucked his prey mercilessly, unrelenting, only picking up the pace. His nostrils flared as his balls tightened, and he bit down as he came, eliciting a half-choked sound of pain, the taste of blood in his mouth. He lifted his head, letting it dribble between his lips, spattering across the human's flexing back, and sat back on his heels.

This one hadn't cried yet, hadn't begged He bore it with silence, obviously determined to be stoic and give as little satisfaction as he could. K'dzok's smile was bloody. He brought his hand down on one toned cheek, listening to the sound reverberate around the tiny, stuffy room. He spanked the other cheek, harder.

"You like that, don't you?" he asked, leaning forward once more, whispering in the human's ear. He took it roughly between his teeth, not hard enough to break the skin, but definitely painful. "You're glad I made you my bitch."

He reached around, digging his hand between the soiled bedding and the knight's abused body, and grabbed his cock, rubbing his fingers in the oily, thick fluid pooling at the tip. K'dzok had fucked a lot of men. He knew they couldn't help coming when he hit their pleasure node, but a lot of them didn't realize it, never discovered it until they learned it at his hands. Every man could be made a whore. Simple friction would do what their minds rebelled against.

"I know your secret. I _know_ you like this. I know you want more." K'dzok abruptly dug his teeth into the back of the human's neck, smiling at the barely-suppressed grunt, lined himself up, and shoved his cock back into the knight's abused hole in one long, rough thrust, feeling displaced cum and blood squish out.

He didn't glance up as the door opened and a troll and an orc walked in, kept fucking the knight, listening to him grunt, teeth dug into his neck. He rolled over, the knight's body atop his, his once again erect cock standing out from his battered body as K'dzok rubbed his penis against that button in his ass that conquered his brain.

K'dzok fucked him harder, then harder still, the sound of his big balls slapping on the human's flesh echoing off the walls, and with a groan, the knight came, seed jetting from his cock, spattering over his hairy chest and belly, dribbling down to his balls. He cried out with each thrust, unable to hold it back anymore as K'dzok plied him with his manhood until he came as well, cum blasting from his balls into the human's snatch.

K'dzok got up, still covered in blood and semen, and gestured to his two guests. "Knock yourselves out."

The orc glanced at him, and then shrugged. "Not much fight in him now, but I won't say no," he said matter-of-factly as he started to unbuckle his belt.

K'dzok glanced at the troll, who simply shook his head, and walked back into the other room.

Nabniath was more or less sprawled in a rickety chair, her legs up on one arm, gnawing on a gnome's femur. K'dzok wondered if she truly enjoyed the taste of bone or if it was simply to sharpen her teeth.

"So, do I have your support?" he asked bluntly.

The other troll, formerly a lieutenant and abruptly promoted after the death of his superior at K'dzok's own hands, nodded and dropped to his knees in front of K'dzok, contemplating the, long, thick fluid-covered cock that hung half-hard in front of his face. K'dzok stepped closer, running his hands through the other troll's blue hair. "You prefer to take it?"

"No," Moag said bluntly. He lifted his eyes to K'dzok. "But I've seen what you can do." His eyes went past K'dzok, to the small room where the bed was creaking once more, two sets of grunts echoing through the open door as Kuruk took his pleasure from the knight's body. "And I know who the real power is. I let you fuck me now, or you rape me like you're going to rape the shit out of Kuruk when he tries to step up to your ground."

"_You might actually live through this,_" K'dzok said in Zul'Amani, amused.

"_I know I won't if you suspect I am not yours._" The quirk of Moag's lips around his tusks had little mirth in it. "_You are the master of the low quarter, and if I serve you well, I may be allowed to dwell in your shadow._"

He leaned forward, opened his mouth, and K'dzok's grip on his hair tightened as his tongue flicked over K'dzok's shaft, lips gliding, mouth sucking, throat working as he swallowed the human's blood and K'dzok's seed. Moag didn't pull back when K'dzok began to thrust with his hips, fucking his face, didn't try to make the depth of the strokes any more shallow. K'dzok drove forward until his cock was at the back of Moag's throat, and pushed in further as Moag angled his head to allow him access, continuing to suck.

The smirk on K'dzok's face widened, and he pulled his cock out of Moag's mouth, slapping it against the side of his face, rubbing his slit over the blue-haired troll's forehead and then pushing it back through his lips again. Moag began to bob on his cock, sucking hard. K'dzok bent, grabbed his arms, lifted his hands, and settled them on his hips. His breathing was getting labored, breaths deeper as he neared climax.

Moag increased his pace, holding onto K'dzok's hips. K'dzok came with a low growl of pleasure, running his hand almost fondly through the blue hair as Moag swallowed every last drop. He pulled slowly off of K'dzok's cock and started to rise.

K'dzok's shove sent him sprawling, and he saw a moment of fear in Moag's eyes, but he simply popped a finger into his mouth, ripped off the troll's loincloth with his other hand hand, and jammed his finger into Moag's slot, eliciting a sharp grunt. A moment later Moag was opening to him, yielding, and K'dzok knelt between his legs, cock still hard.

He got on his hands over him, placed the head of his cock at Moag's entrance, and shoved into him. He saw Moag's jaws widen in silent agony, but the blue-haired troll bit back the cry that wanted to escape, his lean, muscular body flexing, faint scars crisscrossing his skin as he writhed on K'dzok's big, thick shaft.

K'dzok grabbed him by the throat, and began to fuck him in earnest. The fear was back in Moag's eyes, and it was sweet to see it there, pleasing K'dzok almost as much as the hot, tight flesh around his slick manhood. He pounded into him, pulling almost all the way out, and thrusting back into him, setting up the same harsh, unrelenting pace with which he'd fucked the human knight.

He leaned over him, and bit down on Moag's ear as he pistoned in and out of his ass, just barely enough to break the skin.

"Let me hear how well you're willing to serve me," he whispered, and thrust with brutal intensity.

Moag let out a deep, throaty groan from the bottom of his lungs, flinging his head back, expression twisted in pain that was beginning to mingle with involuntary pleasure, his hands clenching and unclenching above his head, clawed fingers scratching the worn floor.

K'dzok began to thrust harder, pausing briefly to wrap his arm around Moag's back and pull him upright onto his cock, letting out a harsh sigh of pleasure as his cock sank even deeper. He fucked him, fucked him for pleasure, savoring the other's submission, relishing his power over him, drinking in the fear that he could smell on Moag's pale blue skin.

He owned him, completely owned him. Moag was his to dominate, to control, to break if he wanted to, to leave whole if it was his desire. He increased his pace, the sound of sex reverberating once more, drowning out the noise from the other room.

K'dzok came, and as he did, he heard a loud _crunch_. He lifted his eyes, half-expecting that he'd crushed Moag's throat in his frenzy of lust, but the other troll just looked back at him, dazed. There was a purr of pleasure from the side of the room, and K'dzok glanced up to see that Nabniath had tired of gnawing and snapped the gnome femur in half, now busy sucking out the marrow.

He glanced back at Moag, whose uneasy gaze returned to him. He was clearly wondering if he was going to be next. K'dzok smiled. He was a smart troll. He laid Moag once more on his back on the floor, still buried deep in his body, and pressed his lips against Moag's claiming dominion there as well, almost as an afterthought. He lifted his head and sat back on one heel, pulling out.

Moag's cock was half-hard, semen gleaming slickly down one side of it. K'dzok took it roughly in his fist, and licked the side of it.

"I own all of you," he said quietly, red eyes burning. "Even this."

Moag nodded, chest still heaving.

"Well isn't that sweet." Kuruk's voice was condescending. "A couple of troll lovers."

K'dzok smirked, and rose. Moag hurriedly got up and backed towards the nearest corner.

Kuruk looked K'dzok up and down, arms folded across his chest. "Thanks for letting me use your slut. Maybe I'll use your other one too."

K'dzok's smirk widened. "You're going to be one of them."

Kuruk's grin faded, eyes narrowing. "Not gonna happen, troll. You may think you're hot stuff, but if you think for one minute that-"

K'dzok's punch lifted him off his feet and the big orc hit the wall hard enough to make the building tremble. Nabniath giggled, an incongruously bubbly sound, broken femur pieces protruding from between her cold, dead lips like ghastly candy.

Kuruk stood halfway up and coughed up blood, supporting himself against the cracked plaster of the wall with one hand. His brown eyes were full of fury as they met K'dzok's, and he reached for the big, long knife at his hip.

K'dzok's smile turned malevolent. "You pull a knife on me, you miss the chance to become my slut. Think hard."

"I'm going to gut you, you stinking long-eared freak," Kuruk pulled the knife and settled into a half-crouched stance, eyes narrowed. He charged, knife swinging.

K'dzok side-stepped the thrust, swept his legs out from under him, and punched downward.

The orc's spine gave with a wet _crunch_ much deeper than the one that had echoed through the room moments before and he let out a shriek of unbelievable agony. K'dzok regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then sat down on his back, eliciting another shriek as shattered vertebrae grated under his full weight. He grabbed Kuruk's knife arm in one hand and grabbed the knife in the other. It wasn't very sharp, but K'dzok's enhanced strength was equal to the task, and Kuruk let out another long wail of mortal agony, lifeblood pumping from the stump of his wrist.

K'dzok got up and smiled at Nabniath, who bounced girlishly to her feet.

"For you, babe," he said generously. He glanced down at Kuruk. "I know you generally don't eat 'em alive but . . . I figure you might like to try one a little raw." He pursed his lips. "You don't like the face, right?"

Nabniath shook her head. "Too much gristle - all that cartilage just doesn't chew."

K'dzok glanced at Moag. "You can take it back to the Scar Knives after she's done eating."

Much like Moag, Kuruk's replacement Alfrang was much more amenable to going along with K'dzok's plan, especially with Kuruk's face stretched across a piece of board above the fireplace in the basement where the Scar Knives met.

_Come on Mraugon_, K'dzok thought as Alfang grunted and moaned beneath him, his clawed fingers digging into the orc's back. _I'm going to chop your fucking head off, have it stuffed, and put it on a fucking wall._

Ж

* * *

**Author's Post-Script Notes:**

Ladies and gentlemen, I am about to get on my soap box.

I don't just write fanfiction on this website, I read a lot of it too. And some of it is, unfortunately (as many of you know) retarded. Today's soap box editorial is brought to you by the complete lack of comprehension that people seem to have for Night Elf (_Kal'Dorei_) society.

In particular, the assumption that night elves are somehow going to be oppressive, particularly in the bedroom, is absolutely ludicrous. For starters, their society (supposedly) is tens and thousands of years old. Compare that with our own, which has existed for a fraction of that length, and society's evolving and more enlightened attitude towards homosexuality. If we're already starting to realize that the fact that someone is homosexual doesn't mean they are automatically a demon, then think of how much more intelligently a much, much, _much_ more developed society is going to regard it and a lot of other things.

Add to that the fact that the night elves themselves live much longer than your average human (I don't need to repeat the clichés – most of you have heard them) and you're going to have people who are, generally, a lot more mature, or at least a lot more _experienced_ than their shorter lived counterparts. Imagine if you were twenty-five and you'd lived for a thousand years. That lust for sexual novelty isn't going to wear off, and penis or vagina is going to get hum-drum after a while, no matter who you are.

Point number three – the lack of Abrahamic tradition. Now please don't think I'm pointing a finger at anybody's religion, but that's frankly where, historically, you see the most repudiation of homosexuality. Prior to the rise of Christianity, homosexuality was, at least in Western civilization, accepted, even honored (Sparta & Greece, various other locations in the Mediterranean, Persia, what would eventually become Europe, and a good portion of Greater Asia, though I can't speak for Africa or South America.) In Azeroth, you simply have the Light, which simply dictates that general benevolence is a good thing and isn't too restrictive on shape and form.

For point number four, you should take into account that for thousands of years between wars, _there were no men!_ (Or at least very, very few!) Most, _if not all males_, were druids, sleeping away the ages in their barrows. Suddenly you've got a massive female population, with little or no access to males for sex (and remember, since they were immortal, they didn't really need to procreate like most races do) and you can bet that Betsy the Huntress wasn't going to satisfy herself with her fingers for five thousand years.

Lastly – _take into account the way they dress!_ In their first appearance, the night elves (including druids of the talon) were very scantily clad. An oppressive society is not going to have scantily clad people. Period.

In conclusion, for anyone who's actually stopped to think about it in an intelligent, adult, mature fashion, the majority of Night Elf society is going to be almost transparently bisexual. That isn't to say people aren't going to have their preferences, but they are also going to make do.

Of course, there's love (Tyrande and Malfurion, epic example) which is the rule-breaker and overwrites lust (in a good relationship anyway).

Ok, I'm done with the soap box.

Much credit once again goes to Seripithus, who suggested that stopping to take some time for my original characters that I've wanted to develop more would be a good break in the good old chapter grind, and boy was she right! Once I sat down to write this chapter it poured out like water, and I _loved _it.

Well, I loved the first part. K'dzok I have a sort of I-hate-you-but-I-need-you-for-the-plot relationship with.

Much thanks also goes, once again, to Dusty the Umbravita, for helping our two gentle lovers come closer in soul as well as flesh.

I leave you with my customary request for constructive criticism and ideas where I can improve my writing. Help me be a better writer, and I'll give you better stuff to read.


	12. Act I Scene XI: Unexpected Trial

**Author's Notes:**

Warcraft and all applicable trademarks belong to Blizzard.

Hey everyone! As you may or may not have noticed - I've been on hiatus for a while. I would claim writer's block, but the truth is I got a TON of books and video games and CDs for Christmas, so I've basically been gorging myself on media for the last month and a half. You may continue to experience lengthened delays between chapters until I've either gotten sick of the video games or beaten them. (I already tackled the books.)

Anyway, the next chapter (which I've been working on for quite some time) is finally here!

* * *

Act I Scene XI

Unexpected Trial

Mattran smelled trouble the moment Desna quietly, even timidly opened the door. The human girl's face was pale, and she stepped quickly and silently inside, closing it behind her, her brown eyes worried. He felt a fondness for the girl, had ever since she was seven and she'd been bold enough to try and steal his coinpurse while he was surrounded by fighters who could break her in half with one hand, though she was such a small, scrawny thing he could have done it himself.

She'd almost gotten away with it too.

Grendala had grabbed her by one too-thin wrist hard enough to make her squeal, held her up by that single, solid grip, her little feet kicking above Stormwind's cobbles, taken one whiff of her, and her nose had wrinkled.

"You," she'd declared "need a bath."

Desna had been with them ever since.

At slender sixteen she could handily gut men with the knives she kept close if she were so inclined, though she generally preferred to show them that she was their better without need of a weapon. She had a fondness for seeing the sting of humiliation in their faces. Her fingers had only gotten nimbler, and her mind wasn't too far behind it for spryness.

She was supposed to be minding the front desk, keeping an eye out for individuals who shared her own unique talents as well as welcoming potential clientele.

She brushed her shoulder-length hair back behind one ear. It was a nervous habit, one that Mattran was not pleased to see.

"There are guards in the foyer. Kirin Tor. They're accompanying an Inquirer Thamas. They want to speak with you directly."

Mattran's brows furrowed slightly. "The Inquirer may see me in my office. His goons can wait in the foyer. Have Mohirn keep an eye on them, but let him know to be polite about it."

Desna nodded, and slipped back through the doorway like a shadow.

Mattran didn't like seeing Desna move like that. It meant she was on edge and she felt like she needed to watch her back. Not an entirely unreasonable reaction in light of her background, but those days were well behind her, and she generally adopted a swinging, almost swaggering step. A pair of Kirin Tor wouldn't scare her. That meant Thamas was something a little extra on the crunchy side of the law.

Crunchy like soot from roasting felons.

Desna's instincts were right on target.

Inquirer Leopold Thamas was a neat, tidy man that somehow gave a distinctive impression of _narrowness_, as though he were walking around in a strange, invisible box that kept his posture perfectly correct and slightly cramped. His motions were spare, not a movement wasted, his robes clean and pressed, the purple fabric of good cloth but not luxurious or of expensive cut, the fist and torch of his department embroidered on his right breast, his thinning hair combed from right to left over the dome of his balding skull. He introduced himself, and smiled politely as he took the seat Mattran indicated, teeth perfectly white and even. It was a smile with no personal warmth to it.

His pale, watery gray eyes burned with a light that Mattran had seen a great deal of, one he disliked even more than he disliked the compressed, tidy, regulated aura the Inquirer seemed to exude.

He was a fanatic.

Mattran could almost smell the ash of convicted criminals incinerated in magical flame.

"I will not waste time," Thamas said simply. "One of your employees, a night elf male by the name of Nathiel Highfury, is a person of interest in an allegation of sexual assault upon the person of the daughter of Colonel Epomenos Lloys. I am conducting an investigation into this matter. As his employer, and as the alleged event was reported as having occurred during an excursion under protection provided by Vir Aegeae-"

"I get the idea." Mattran's tone was crisp and slightly dry, setting down a report he'd been pretending to glance over. "I'll ensure that a full inquiry is made internally and that the mercenary in question-"

"Is turned over for questioning?" Inquirer Thamas's eyebrows had risen slightly.

"Is aware of his rights and is ensured a fair trial." Mattran bit the words off, eyes narrowing. "I will also make certain that he is notified and conduct an investigation personally, since the matter touches not only on his reputation but on that of my business." He sat back. "Unless you're going to make an arrest?"

Thamas didn't look fazed in the slightest. "I can assure you, Master Helfenheimler, that the Justice Department is only interested in thoroughly and efficiently retrieving the truth of the matter. While we regrettably do not have sufficient evidence at this time to make an arrest, I think you can understand that the investigation still requires certain . . . cooperation in the due process of law."

"Vir Aegeae is only too pleased to cooperate with the laws established by the Kirin Tor." Mattran looked into Inquirer Leopold Thamas's face, and was faintly disturbed by the complete lack of reaction in those watery gray eyes.

Thamas smiled that same polite, empty smile, fanatical light still burning in his gaze. "Thank you for your time, Master Helfenheimler. Please notify me when you are ready to live up to those words." He stood. "Good day."

Mattran didn't wish any particular harm on Leopold Thamas on a personal basis, but he would feel much, _much_ more comfortable if all such neat, creepy little men were locked up in small rooms in dark places with the doors bricked up. The only consolation was that so would a number of criminals, and that was small consolation indeed.

He was still staring at his folded hands on his desk when Desna returned.

"Get Reiyad. Tell him to find Nathiel." Mattran looked up and met Desna's faintly worried gaze. "Tell him to hurry. And tell Grendala I'm going to the Darnassian embassy."

She nodded, pulling the door shut behind her again, and Mattran stared at it a moment longer before he got down from his chair. He hated sitting in the damn thing, well aware that without the steps up hidden behind his desk, the only way to climb up would have been to claw his way into the seat with an undignified jump. There was no help for it however. He knew from experience that unless he looked at them from an equal height, many of his clients would never take him seriously.

The dossier with the figures the ambassador's secretary had dropped off gripped securely in one hand, he got his top hat and his good cloak out of one of the cabinets against the wall, and prepared to venture out.

The Darnassian embassy wasn't close, but Mattran walked anyway, cloak wrapped around him against the faint chill in the air that persisted despite the magical spells of the Kirin Tor. Without those spells of course, living at (or even reaching) such an elevation without moderation of the temperature (and the breathability of the air to boot) would have been completely impossible. Still, Mattran sometimes privately contemplated the idea that the mages kept the temperature lowered so they wouldn't overheat in all the elaborate robes they wrapped themselves in.

He walked because walking gave him time to think, and lately, he'd had an awful lot to think about. The flood of requests for Nathiel's personal service was where it had started, the visit from the Ambassador's secretary . . . and now this allegation.

He didn't think for a moment that Nathiel had done it. The night elf warrior showed a marked preference for males whenever any were available. He was more likely to have bedded one of the knights that had accompanied the officer's daughter.

Still, Mattran couldn't figure it. Why start off with subtle attempts to get Nathiel out of the city, and then suddenly jump to trumping up charges? Why not go straight to the mattresses from the top of the game? Ambassador Dellani could have had Vir Aegeae drowning in bureaucracy if he'd wanted to, so why even resort to this?

Mattran couldn't figure it, and it made him worry that there was just the slightest chance that there was actually something to the claim . . . but he couldn't see how it fit together.

He _hated_ mysteries.

The night elf consulate in Dalaran was a small one, just the consul, a couple of functionaries, and a small staff of guards. Either he'd come at the right time, or the consul just wasn't that busy, because he only had to wait a few minutes while the receptionist conferred with someone in the inner office before he was shown in.

Consul Hinishma Ravensong had pale blue hair and a light, lavender complexion, dressed simply in a dark purple tunic and slacks, a blue robe with the crest of the night elf nation tied loosely at her waist. She regarded him with polite curiosity.

"Can I assist you?"

"I hope so." Mattran looked up at the chair opposite her desk, and with a sigh, clambered up into it. His indignation was partly mollified by the complete lack of amusement or condescension in her gaze. "It's about one of your people, a man I'm employing." Mattran frowned. "He's been accused of rape."

The consul's long, feathery eyebrows rose. "That's a very serious allegation."

"He didn't do it," Mattran said bluntly. "The supposed victim is a colonel's daughter. He prefers almost exclusively men."

"A defense that would weigh heavily in his favor," she acknowledged. "I'm assuming that you've come here for legal representation for your employee, then."

"It's not just his reputation that would suffer from this kind of accusation, but the professional reputation of my business."

"Perhaps you could explain what manner of business you run and the circumstances of this allegation?"

"I'm the guild master of Vir Aegeae," Mattran said plainly. "We're a mercenary guild. Bodyguards. That's another reason I wanted to come see you. I wanted to verify whether or not Ambassador Dellani is planning a trip to Darnassus."

Hinishma's eyes became hooded. "If you're looking to solicit-"

"He was soliciting me." Mattran tossed the dossier onto her desk. "I want to know if it's authentic."

Her pale, glowing white-blue eyes dropped to the folder, and after a moment she turned it around and opened it, lips pursing.

"There have been a number of communications between the ambassador's office and this consulate," she said after a long moment. "But the itinerary is still tentative." She lifted her gaze to his once more. "I'm curious to know, though, since this was obviously delivered directly from his office, why you felt the need to get verification on the subject."

"The same night elf mercenary that's been accused of rape is dating the ambassador's second son. It's pretty serious." Mattran frowned. "The father and son are currently estranged."

"You suspect that family politics may be playing a part in the allegations?" she asked, folding her hands.

"Bingo." Mattran nodded. "Anything you can do for him?"

Ж

Really, Nathiel thought to himself as he watched Ambryn and Annatta bustling around the human mage's kitchen, she wasn't nearly so aggravating once she relaxed. Ambryn hadn't looked even remotely surprised when she walked in without so much as a knock, as though this were _her_ apartment. Apparently it was a fairly common occurrence.

Nathiel still wanted to start locking Ambryn's door though. He really didn't want her walking in on them during sex.

Still, Ambryn had smiled warmly at the sight of her, and the apologetic look as his delightful posterior vacated Nathiel's lap was mollifying enough to keep him from becoming genuinely annoyed.

For her part, the _quel_'_dorei_ had kept the necessary pleasantries where he was concerned to a bare minimum. He could respect that. He obviously wasn't the reason she was here.

So he kept back while they talked about spells and cooking and ley-line cycles. They'd migrated to the kitchen, and he was leaning against the doorway now, watching as the two of them sliced, diced, measured, poured, and retrieved ingredients and spices like they were two bodies with the same mind, still talking.

Standing there, watching, Nathiel began to get more of an idea of just how she must have felt about him that first day they'd met. She barely even glanced at Ambryn half the time, never taking the time to admire his curls, thick and golden amber like rich honey in a jar, or the perfect shape of his mouthwatering bottom, the curve of his lips. Their conversation wasn't particularly deep, dancing from topic to topic, sparkling with hints of laughter, and though there was an occasional silence between them, it lasted only for a minute or two.

If Ambryn had shown even a hint of interest in her as something other than a friend, it was strange to realize he would have felt definite jealousy, but it was clear that while she was devoted to him, Ambryn didn't look at her as a presumptive mate.

It was reassuring, but it was also the slightest bit sad, because Nathiel could see all too clearly that she didn't feel the same.

"Is this sauce too sweet do you think?"

"No, but it could use just a _little_ more ginger. Here."

"That's _mmm_ . . . yummy."

Ambryn glanced over his shoulder, and met Nathiel's gaze with a bright smile, spoon in hand. Annatta too, turned to regard him, expression less benevolent, but at least she wasn't bursting into flames today.

"Would you like to try some?"

Nathiel grinned and stepped forward, closing his fingers gently around Ambryn's, guiding the spoon to his lips. The sauce was pleasantly spiced without being _too_ sharp, and the slight sweetness only enhanced the flavor. He savored the taste for a moment.

"It's delicious," he said honestly. "What's it for?"

"Almond-ginger chicken." Ambryn's smile had turned more intimate, lips parting ever so slightly. Nathiel pretended not to notice that he still had Ambryn's hand gently imprisoned in his own, just looking into those beautiful eyes. His gaze dropped to Ambryn's marvelous lips, now gleaming ever so slightly with moisture. He was just leaning in for a taste of something even more delectable than the sauce when someone started pounding on the front door.

"Stay in here," he said quietly.

He grabbed the long knife he'd left lying on the table in the living room and tucked it into the back of his waistband. The asshole in the hallway was still pounding, hard and fast. Nathiel felt a hint of irritation. He might not use the knife, but if whoever was trying to beat the door down didn't have a damn good explanation, he had two fists he'd didn't have any compunctions about employing to teach them some manners.

He opened the door, and Reiyad yanked his fist to a halt, expression worried. "Nath! We gotta go!"

Nathiel frowned. "What's going on?"

Reiyad made a subtle gesture with his chin at the other occupants of the apartment. _"I'll explain on the way. We have to leave now!"_ he said rapidly, dropping into Darnassian.

"Nathiel, is something the matter?" Ambryn was standing next to Annatta, both of them in the living room now. Nathiel felt his irritation increase. Neither had obeyed his orders to stay in the kitchen and out of sight.

"There's been a . . . mixup." Reiyad's expression turned sickly. "Nathiel and I need to get out of the city for a little while and get it straightened out. We have to go, but we'll be back."

Nathiel just stared at Reiyad for a moment. When he glanced over his shoulder, both mages' expressions were closed. He grabbed Reiyad by the front of his shirt, yanked him inside, and slammed the door. "_What sort of mixup_?" he growled.

"_I'll explain later! The guards -"_

Nathiel shoved Reiyad up against the wall, tone deadly. "_Explain now_."

"_The last run we did to Valgarde – the girl. She's saying she was raped. She's saying it was you."_ Reiyad was pale. _"An _Inquirer_ came to the guild hall._"

Nathiel almost hit him in that moment, except that he knew it wasn't really Reiyad's fault. He'd known the little bitch was trouble, but this . . . he hadn't expected this. Not so long after the fact. He took his hands off of Reiyad's shirt and stepped back. _"How close behind you were they?_"

"_Maybe fifteen minutes."_ Reiyad reached for the door.

"Nathiel."

The soft sound of his name on Ambryn's lips was like the burn of poison in his veins. Nathiel looked at him desperately. It wasn't supposed to be this way. There was deep misgiving in the jade eyes. "Nathiel. Wait."

_"Nath!"_ Reiyad grabbed his shoulder.

Nathiel shrugged him off, strode across the room, and pulled Ambryn into his arms, looking down into his eyes and wishing uselessly that they'd warm again.

"I'll fix this," he said softly. "I promise."

And then, bizarrely, Ambryn smiled faintly at him, only there was a strange bitterness in it, and those jade eyes were cold, so incredibly cold, like frozen emeralds. "You don't understand. I think I'm the one that has to. Stay in Periont's Tower until I come for you."

Nathiel was still trying to figure out what that meant when the world dissolved into shimmering rings of brilliance, the warmth of Ambryn's body in his arms fading to nothing. When the light died he was standing in a large, circular room, the light of late afternoon streaming in through the high, arched windows.

He was still trying to process the abrupt change in location when bands of light flashing with symbols of power expanded out from a single point in midair to his right, dying away to reveal a startled-looking Reiyad, Annatta at his side. Her expression was distant as she walked past him to the window.

Nathiel looked after her for a moment. "Are we-"

"In Periont's Tower, yes." Her tone was as remote as her expression. She stopped in front of those tall windows, folding her arms.

Nathiel drew in a long, deep breath. On the one hand, it was sort of staggering to think that without even knowing what was going on, Ambryn had moved to protect him. There was no other possible motivation. On the other hand, he was worried, because he didn't know what Ambryn was planning, only barely had an idea of what was going on himself.

He turned, heading for the door he saw across the room.

"Stay here. This will be the last place the _Inquirer_ will think to look for you." Annatta's tone was disparaging. Nathiel paused, glancing back in time to see Reiyad wince.

"What did he mean, it's something he has to fix?" Nathiel asked quietly.

"You haven't figured it out yet?" Annatta glanced at him, shook her head, and turned her gaze back to the sea of rooftops and soaring spires on the other side of the glass. "Ambassador Dellani does _not_ approve of his son's choice of paramour. I find it difficult to believe he hasn't mentioned that to you."

"He might have in passing." Nathiel grimaced. He'd known Ambryn and his father didn't see eye to eye, but this was a little extreme for a family quarrel, wasn't it? Besides, he hadn't raped their fare, and Reiyad was the one who gave her a rogering at her request. He found it a little hard to believe Ambryn's father would have dug that up and twisted it for something like this over a private family dispute. What was the point? All he had to do was tell the truth under one of the Kirin Tor's Veracity spells and that would be the end of it.

Wouldn't it?

Ж

Ambryn had known instinctively what was going on the moment Reiyad appeared at his apartment, expression close to panic. He'd seen Annatta stiffen at the word _Inquirer_, had felt his own breath stop in his chest, heart missing a beat.

He'd hadn't thought Tybalt would go so far.

He'd underestimated him.

He wondered if Nathiel had seen through him, seen through to the guilt that had risen up like bile, burning the back of his throat, the shame. It was his fault.

Now, sitting in his living room, he could feel ice forming in his belly, gradually spreading, until he felt as though he would shatter if he moved wrong. He felt so cold.

The worst part wasn't the choking feeling that was rising in him. No, the worst part was the cramping, gnawing burn at the center of that chill, like someone had lit a black-flamed candle in the center of his chest, sucking away the heat and light instead of bringing it.

There was a polite knock at the door. Ambryn felt the ice tighten its grip. He got up to answer it.

Two men in the robes of the Justice Department, the fist and torch on their breasts, were waiting on the other side.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Ambryn said politely. "Can I help you?"

The one on the left inclined his head slightly, his beard making it difficult to see more than his brown eyes. "Good afternoon, Mr. Dellani. We're looking for a night elf – Nathiel Highfury. From what we understand he frequents your residence."

"I've been seeing him, yes." Ambryn wondered how he could be so calm. That dark flame at his core seemed to draw more of his heat away. "You just missed him. He departed not more than five minutes ago. His friend came and got him."

"Did he happen to say where he was going?"

"I believe he was intending to leave the city," Ambryn said, once again perfectly honestly. "They're mercenaries, so they do that quite frequently."

The other man nodded. "Thank you for your assistance. Will you be staying in tonight? We may have more questions later."

"I'm actually intending to go see my father this evening. I'm not sure how long I'll be." That was also the truth.

"We won't keep you then. Good evening, Mr. Dellani."

"Good evening." Ambryn's skin felt numb, but it was nothing compared to the chill beneath it as he closed the door, went to his room, and changed into a formal set of pale blue-white robes with a high collar, bell sleeves, and elaborate stitching in silver thread.

No one glanced twice at him as he rode the lift down to the ground floor. No one met his gaze as he stepped outside onto the grand porch and descended the stairs to the street. He walked, because he was waiting for the ice to loosen its grip, waiting to be able to think and breathe again, to feel something, anything besides the deep, deathly chill that had settled inside of him.

It didn't abate, only seemed to settle more deeply into his core as he walked through the dying afternoon light to the administrative quarter.

Ж

"Sir, Ambryn is here to see you."

Tybalt heard a strange note in Eanté's voice as the door opened, glancing up from a letter he'd received from the consulate in Stormwind, and his breath froze in his chest as he met Marianne's eyes.

They were hers from the jeweled emerald brilliance to the depth of the frigid, implacable, unquenchable rage that filled them, a cold fury he never thought he'd ever see again in this life, and it shook him to his very core as they stared out at him from his son's face. He sat, silent, stunned, as Ambryn entered like a very spirit of the cold, clear skies, steps quiet as the falling snow, and sat.

"Please leave us, Eanté." Ambryn turned his head slightly as he spoke, those unearthly eyes releasing Tybalt at last, and he sat back in his chair, trying to catch his breath.

Eanté hesitated, hand on the door, eyes going to Tybalt, and then she complied. The latch settled with a faint _click_ that seemed overly loud in the abrupt silence.

"Name your price." The words were calm, even polite, but it was the calm of the deepest, darkest night of winter. Even so, Tybalt was startled by them. He'd planned this meeting. He knew exactly what he was going to say and how he was going to say it.

Looking at Ambryn now, seeing in him an unmistakable reflection of the fullest extent of Marianne's rage, Tybalt knew instantly it wouldn't work. By simple strength of presence, Ambryn had brought the bargain down to brass tacks and stripped away all the careful layers Tybalt had meant to put in place.

He was very much his mother's son.

Tybalt pulled a file out of his desk and slid it across the polished surface. "You should know that the mercenary has been accused of rape."

"He didn't do it." There was no assertion in Ambryn's tone. It was a statement of fact. "But you don't care. All you have to do is lean on the judge to seal the proceedings and admit no witnesses, and no one will ever know the truth. Then you'll be free to use your real weapons. Within a month just the rumors you've unleashed will have him hanged by those certain of his guilt and his employer run out of business, probably even out of the city."

Emerald eyes met his once more, darkened from pale jade to a color far more perilous, making it difficult to breathe. "We both know this. Now what do you want?"

"I want my son back." Tybalt didn't realize until the words left his mouth that he half-believed it really _was_ Marianne, there across the desk from him, wearing her son's flesh as she confronted his father. There was a cold ache behind his ribs, a chill that rode the length of his spine.

It was she who smiled back at him, no warmth at all in the expression, pinning him with her stare like a moth on a collector's board. "Trouble the mercenary ever again, and I will see to it that you will _never_ have that."

"I understand." The words came out cracked, and Tybalt watched as Ambryn stood, only he wasn't entirely sure it was merely him on the other side of the desk, and walked out as quietly and calmly as he'd appeared.

Only after the silence had stretched into long minutes did he stop to fully contemplate what he'd agreed to. He barely glanced up as Eanté entered, her arms folded around her. She reached for the fireplace poker, and then stopped, raised a hand, and fire splashed from her palm over the logs, heat flushing out into the room.

"He really is Marianne's," she said quietly.

Tybalt shivered, and stood, moving to stand next to her in front of the fireplace. He held his hands out to the flames. "I need you to go and get the girl personally."

Eanté glanced up, startled. "But if he _did_-"

"He didn't. The mercenary will be present, but it is the girl who will be questioned under the spell. Take two Inquirers and a full squad of the guard. This has become a diplomatic matter."

Tybalt was thinking carefully about a letter he'd received with the crest of a moon and crown, penned by a scribe. He was thinking about Darnassus, and the correspondence he'd had Eanté begin with the Darnassian Consulate. It wasn't the path he'd been expecting to take, but a plan was forming.

In the back of his mind, emerald eyes lurked.

Ж

Annatta had left maybe half an hour ago. She'd brought bread and cider from stores the Tower kept on hand for its mages, and then departed again It was a piss-poor substitute for Ambryn's cooking.

Nathiel was restless. He wanted to move, to do _something_. He hated to sit here, waiting, thinking of Kirin Tor guards looking for him. They'd probably been to his apartment. There would be some serious explaining to do. His landlady already thought him a rake – there was no telling what she'd do if she thought that his depravity had sunk to new lows.

Reiyad was no help. He was quiet, guilt dogging his shoulders, leaning against a wall, arms folded, head down.

"So what were you planning anyway?" Nathiel asked coolly. "Flee the city like a pair of fugitives, running from the law?"

Reiyad flinched and raised his head. "I . . . thought we could go to Valgarde. I could talk to her. Hell, I would've even turned myself in if it came to it, but . . ." He shrugged uncomfortably. "You know what the Kirin Tor does to capital offenders. I was afraid that they'd . . ."

Nathiel drew in a long, calming breath, trying to keep a grip on his temper. "You thought they'd just kill me in cold blood without checking my side of the story?"

Reiyad dropped his gaze.

Nathiel let out his breath. Reiyad had meant well.

He turned at the sound of the door opening, and Annatta entered. Her expression was uncertain. "Ambryn's here."

The hesitancy in her voice made the hair stand up on the back of Nathiel's neck. He was past her and sprinting before he even realized he was in motion. Ambryn was a little ways down the hallway.

He'd changed his clothes, all cool, pale silver and snow-blue white, the robes giving him an austere air, even his honey hair seeming to have lost some its richness under the lights, washed out by the lack of color. He was looking out the window, his hands clasped in front of him.

He looked up, and there was something in his jade eyes, something cold and lost that made Nathiel ache even as he pulled Ambryn into him, drawing him close. Even his skin was cold, as though he'd been too long outside.

"I'm sorry," Ambryn said quietly.

"Stop saying the things I'm supposed to say," Nathiel retorted, breath catching in his throat, not quite managing the jovial tone he was trying for.

"My father-"

"It's not your fault," Nathiel interjected fiercely, cutting him off. He looked down into Ambryn's jade eyes. The cold was still there, and it hurt him to see it. He lowered his mouth to Ambryn's, kissing him deeply, searching for that spark, willing that warmth to return. For a moment the lips were unresponsive under his own, and then they softened, opening, and Nathiel deepened the kiss, feeling Ambryn melting against him, feeling the life return to him, until Ambryn was kissing him back, desperate and wanting.

It wasn't until he tasted salt that Nathiel realized he'd pulled Ambryn up into his arms, lifting him off of the floor. Tears traced glittering trails down Ambryn's face, but he was smiling, the chill gone, the sweet warmth returned to his gaze, as though the ice within had melted away.

Nathiel smiled back at him, his world gradually returning once more to an approximation of normal. He adjusted his grip, gathering Ambryn's legs in one arm so the mage was cradled against his chest, and turned to see Annatta and Reiyad standing in the doorway. Annatta blushed. Reiyad had the grace to look shamefaced as well, but there was a silly smile on his lips.

"What're you looking at?" Nathiel mock-growled, smile turning to a salacious grin.

Ж

Under other circumstances, Nathiel might have felt sorry for her, especially in light of the sheer number of witnesses packed into the court. She looked small and alone, a semicircle of three purple-robed Inquirers around her, one to either side and one behind. Her pretty little face was pale, no coquettish pout on her lips this time, not a trace of confidence in the way she sat on the low marble bench, shoulders hunched.

The air shimmered around her, wavering like a heat mirage, the aura of the Veracity spell forming its own magical cloud of sorcerous potency.

He actually felt a little embarrassed himself as he listened to the whole tawdry little story.

She'd refused to be teleported back to Valgarde, not because she was afraid of the magic as she'd told her father, but because she'd been in the mood for an "adventure." Nathiel had turned her down, and rudely at that. Nathiel grimaced as she repeated his exact words verbatim to the court, raising a number of eyebrows. Apparently she'd been fairly stung to recall them so precisely.

Reiyad was her second choice. She'd been hoping to make Nathiel jealous enough that he'd reconsider.

He hadn't.

Her voice got quieter and quieter through the recitations and the questions, until the judge was forced to ask her to speak up.

Her father sat in the audience, face set in stone, complexion reddening further above his stiff military uniform with each question and answer, until he had a face like a brick wall.

The prosecutor, Leopold Thamas, seemed to take no real pleasure in each question, thorough and precise, his tone always perfectly even and completely polite, holding himself carefully as he stood in place, as though boxed in by some sort of invisible boundary, only his mouth and eyes moving, hands clasped in front of him.

The only saving grace was that Ambryn wasn't present to hear it. He and Annatta were back at the apartment, having a second go at making almond-ginger chicken.

"To conclude, your honor, given the witness's testimony under the Veracity spell provided by Inquirers Reed Salinger, Estes Laurence, and Valtus Therein, I believe that we have thoroughly established the innocence of the defendant." Thamas looked at the judge's raised desk like a hound waiting for the word of his master.

The judge's graying eyebrows rose briefly. "Does the defense have anything to add?"

Hinishma Ravensong stood and shook her head. "Only that I am reassured by the excellence of the investigation and the swift resolution of these allegations, your honor. It is a great credit to the judicial system established by the Kirin Tor."

"You are very kind," the judge said politely, stroking his beard.

"If I may, your honor." Thamas raised a hand.

"By all means, Inquirer Thamas." The judge waved absently.

"As your honor is undoubtedly aware, the plaintiff has committed the grave crime of perjury." Thamas looked at the throne-like desk expectantly.

The judge blinked. The girl's father was half out of his seat, eyes wide, shame turned to fear.

"While I appreciate your . . . fervent pursuit of justice, Inquirer Thamas," the judge said slowly, "I believe that the personal humiliation of these proceedings is likely sufficient punishment for Miss Lloys." His gaze went to a blond man with short, curly hair and steel gray robes who sat near the back of the chamber. "We've also been petitioned for leniency in the interests of preserving harmonious relations with the people of Lordaeron."

Thamas looked deeply disappointed, but he nodded.

"If that is all, then I hereby declare the defendant not guilty. The charges are dismissed." The judge stood, and everyone else followed suit, waiting for him to depart so that they could make their own way out.

"I believe congratulations are in order," Hinishma said as she neared, her pale blue hair brushed back behind her ears. She smiled politely. "Your employer was quite concerned over the outcome."

"I wasn't really," Nathiel said with a shrug he didn't feel. "If I'd known she was going to be repeating what I told her that night in a courtroom full of people though, I probably would have used a different turn of phrase."

Hinishma's eyebrows rose, lips curving into more of a genuine smile. "Indeed. I confess that this trial was _not_ conducted in a manner I was expecting." She coughed politely, smile fading. "It is, however regrettable, my responsibility to remind you that here in foreign lands, we _are_ all ambassadors for the _kal'dorei_ nation. Perhaps the next time you refuse a young lady, you might recall today's proceedings."

"I don't plan for it to happen again, but I'll keep that in mind, Consul." He knew why she was saying it in the common human language. It was purely for show, an attempt to convince those listening that at least the _kal'dorei_ government wasn't full of vulgar elves. Shysters and the patrons of the human whorehouse near the Silver Enclave were obviously already weighing fairly heavily against her in that endeavor, but he didn't argue.

"Mr. Highfury."

It was the blond man the judge had looked to before, dressed in the elaborate steel-gray robes, runes stitched across the surface in elaborate dark blue embroidery. His brown eyes were cool as he held out a hand. "I'm Ambassador Tybalt Dellani, Ambryn's father. I understand you're seeing my son."

Nathiel blinked, startled. Now that he looked at the human, the facial structure was similar, the lay of the eyes, the height of the cheekbones, the shape of the chin, but the eye color and the lips were different, the hair paler.

"Yeah." Nathiel hesitated a moment longer, and then took the offered hand. If this was going to go downhill, it was a fight he wasn't going to start. He could see out of the corner of his eye that Hinishma was watching _very_ closely. "He mentioned that the two of you are currently not seeing eye to eye."

Tybalt smiled faintly as he released his grip. "I'm quite confident that we've made significant steps toward reconciliation." He glanced around the court chamber, rows of pale gray stone benches almost empty now, the insignia of the Kirin Tor on a purple banner above the judge's seat. "The trial turned out very much to my satisfaction. I was not originally expecting to be pleased at the outcome." Those brown eyes returned to Nathiel. "I didn't approve of you at first, but perhaps my son's choice has more merit than I had initially considered. I'd like to assure him of my changed opinion."

Nathiel nodded slowly after a moment. "Thank you for your words, Ambassador."

Tybalt returned the nod, and turned away. "Hinishma, I'd like to meet with you regarding my plans to travel to Darnassus. I'll send Eanté to your office to work out the details for our appointment."

Hinishma nodded quickly. "Of course, Ambassador. Our office will be pleased to offer you assistance, and I have no doubt that Darnassus will be equally pleased to host you."

"Please, call me Tybalt." The ambassador smiled that same, polite smile and took her hand briefly. "Until then." He glanced at Nathiel. "Please take good care of yourself. My son's welfare is of great concern to me."

Then he was gone, moving with an air of confident certainty, almost seeming to radiate authority.

The whole conversation had left Nathiel feeling slightly uneasy, with the distinct impression that a great deal had been said in those few sentences.

"_These humans, they have a way with implications that can be . . . disquieting, do they not?_" Hinishma's tone was pensive.

"_The dangerous ones_," Nathiel said back before he'd thought better of it. Hinishma only nodded however.

"_We'd better both stay on his good side_," she replied quietly.

Ж

"Are you worried?" Annatta looked at Ambryn. He'd been silent all day, ever since Nathiel and Reiyad had left this morning for the Justice Department. "About the trial?"

"No. Whatever else he is, my father is a man of his word." Ambryn hesitated in putting the top back on the small clay jar of powdered ginger, and then completed the motion.

"You're going to need a little more of that," she said gently.

He looked at her, and then smiled faintly and took the top back off, adding a touch more to the sauce in its pan on the stove, stirring it with a wooden spoon. She continued to watch him. Something was bothering him, though thankfully he wasn't the cold shadow of himself he'd been last night. She hadn't asked him what happened. She didn't dare invite back that stranger who'd worn his flesh, chill and somehow terrible.

"I don't know what he's going to ask for in exchange for Nathiel's safety." Ambryn had stopped stirring. He was staring at the wall over the stove, expression worried.

Annatta hesitated, feeling just a little bit guilty because she wasn't doing it just for him, and turned and gave him a hug, and after a moment, his arms came around her as well.

"It'll be alright," she told him, uncertain of whether or not she was lying. In truth, she was uncertain of whether she even wanted to. If Nathiel had really done it – if he was truly guilty – it would put an end to her plans. But Ambryn would be all hers.

He wouldn't really. She knew it deep inside. But it was terribly hard not to listen to that tiny, perverse voice in the back of her head that whispered _maybe, just maybe_ . . .

"Thanks Annatta." Ambryn squeezed briefly, and pulled back. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

She smiled into his jade eyes and his sweet, lovely face. "Any time," she said honestly. She let her smile quirk into a grin. "I think the chicken's just about ready."

Ambryn drew in a deep breath and smiled. "I think you're right."

"You know," she said as they were chopping up the chicken carcass. "I think our teleportation spells went really well considering both Nathiel and Reiyad came out in one piece and on the right plane of existence. I actually have a new tome I was thinking we could look at about gates. It's theoretical instead of practical, but it looked like great reading. I thought we could study it before Circle."

"I have to admit, it _did_ come in extremely handy." Ambryn helped her get the chicken into the sauce, and they left it to simmer. "Of course, I was never expecting to actually use it in that kind of situation."

She winked at him. "It could come in handy if you're ever in a tight situation yourself too."

_Like when we finally reach Khalimdor and the roots of Nordrassil, and we've stolen all the water from the Well of Eternity we can carry_.

Ж

* * *

**Author's Post-Script Notes:**

Thanks goes once again to my reviewers, and as always, I'd like to invite you to leave constructive criticism. What's awkward? What doesn't fit? Is there a turn of phrase that just plain blows? Is it even just a typo? Let me know!


	13. Act I Scene XII: Surprising Reversals

**Author's Notes:**

Here it is - the next installment! I flatter myself to think that at least a few of you have been waiting for it.

First things first. This chapter is exclusively K'dzok and Nabniath. That means lots of extremely graphic violence, lots of graphic sex, and a lot of disturbing imagery. For those of you with tender sensibilities who do not enjoy K'dzok, you will want to wait until the next chapter when the spotlight hops back to Ambryn and Nathiel.

* * *

Ж

Act I Scene XII

Surprising Reversal

K'dzok watched from the rooftop as the cloaked orc made his way through the narrow street, shoulders hunched, moving with a slinking gait, indistinguishable from the usual occupants.

Only, the usual occupants weren't present.

Under threats of knives and worse, they'd left their usual places. Those who hadn't, had added their blood to what was already soaked into the dirt streets. Everyone, everything in this fetid little neck of hovels belonged to K'dzok. The beggars in the mouths of the alleys, the peddlers, even the lone, ugly whore on the corner, all of them were his. This orc, who would have fit in in without a second glance in Orgrimmar or a half a dozen smaller cities and towns, had no way of knowing that. It was why he still moved toward the slapdash excuse for a tavern at the end of the cramped row instead of scuttling back to his master.

Mraugon had arrived yesterday.

K'dzok flipped up his loincloth, mug of ale in his other hand, stepped up to the edge of the rooftop, took aim, and a stream of yellow liquid spattered onto the street below.

The orc rogue let out a curse as he dodged the rain of piss, and looked up. His eyes didn't widen. He was too well trained for that. K'dzok noted this out of the corner of his eye, gaze fixed on the distant hulk of Shattrath City proper, and took a drink from the mug in his hand as he continued to relieve himself from the rooftop onto the street below.

He wasn't really thinking about the spy. He was thinking about all the rogues Mraugon had probably brought with him – likely fighters as well, maybe a few mages. The Steel Sheen would want this done as quietly and efficiently as possible in an urban setting like this one.

K'dzok smiled absently as the orc gave the yellow stream a wide berth on his way to the door, and let out a thunderous belch. He was getting hard just thinking about what was coming. He gave his engorging pale green penis a couple of strokes and a shake and let the rough fabric of his loincloth fall back over it, not making any attempt to hide his growing erection.

He saw Moag shoot his crotch a wary glance, undoubtedly wondering if K'dzok would take the time for one last rough fuck before the battle began. Alfang just kept his head down, eyes fixed on the stein between his thick fingers.

K'dzok's smile widened.

The orc left again a good hour and a half later. K'dzok waited another thirty minutes after that to tell Moag to get ready.

"The minotaur."

Nabniath's voice was sensual.

"Yeah." K'dzok smiled, thinking once more of Mraugon's head, mounted on a polished oak slab, eyes replaced with dull glass, tongue protruding from between his teeth. He glanced down at Nabniath. Her fine white hair was hidden beneath the hood of the black cloak she wore, the lips in her deathly gray face curved in a smile that echoed his own.

She was a strange, and strangely delightful creature. He thought perhaps it sprang out of a sense of kinship, the way she consumed her prey, devoured them utterly, even as he subsumed them, took their flesh for his own use, consumed them in another way before he gave her their broken bodies. She had a cavalier disregard for restraint, self-imposed or otherwise, was utterly free. He admired that about her.

And yet, he had the sense that she was waiting for something, a mannerism in the way she trailed after him expectantly, as though anticipating more than just the bodies of the dead and might-as-well-be-dead alike.

It felt strangely as if she looked up to him, waiting for him to do . . . something. He wasn't sure what. Still, he wasn't nervous. No, he was confident, as a magician who is about to delight a crowd with a marvelous trick. She would see what he had done, and she would delight in it. He could sense it in her, the anticipation, the eagerness for what was coming.

They drifted into the little street out of the flow of working-class laborers, the rat-catchers and sewer-sweeps, the charwomen and ragpickers and beggars on their way to their own hovels in the Lower Quarter that spread out from Shattrath's rotting base.

They congregated there in the mouth of the, narrow, dead-ended street, thickening into a mass of thick-bodied forms shrouded in cloaks.

K'dzok wondered idly if Mraugon had any idea he was walking into an ambush. He had to be expecting one. Did he honestly think K'dzok was just going to sit on his ass, drink ale, and wait for some half-baked grunt to come lop his head off?

Still, even knowing that, the minotaur would show. K'dzok could feel it in his bones. Mraugon would want to bring K'dzok back himself, whether it be half-alive or all dead. His pride wouldn't let him do anything else.

K'dzok smiled faintly and sat back in his chair. Pride was for amateurs. He let his hand drop to the handle of the axe that rested against his chair. It was a wicked thing with a double-bladed head, devilishly sharp, the thick haft of dark, bloodstained oak.

The mass of cloaked figures began to move into the street, leaving behind a thin screen, the rear guard. The scrying spell crackled and spat, began to glimmer with random patterns of light as it was disrupted, and Nabniath let the spell lapse.

K'dzok gripped the axe haft, felt it solid in his hand, and stood, slinging it over his shoulder as he turned to walk out the back door. Twilight was upon them. He turned and stared at the tavern for a long moment, a disproportioned, lumpy hunk of cheap bricks and adobe with a few slightly crooked beams, and his gaze went to Alfang.

The orc nodded back, and tossed a small, black, cylindrical object in through the open door, then turned and jogged toward them. K'dzok smirked as arcane blue light flared through the shutters. It was followed a moment later by a booming, roaring cough as explosives gutted the building, the force of it enough to make the ground shake, smoke and dust mushrooming into the air.

So much for the surprise attack. With any luck those blood elf witch sisters had been in that bunch. There wasn't a chance he'd taken out Mraugon with that little trick, though. K'dzok strolled toward the first fall-back position, and with a groan, the remnants of the single wall that had still been standing tumbled into the debris-choked hole of the tavern's basement behind them.

The fun was just beginning.

Moag jogged ahead, opening the door, and as he passed, K'dzok reached over to give his pale blue butt a fond squeeze and a pat. His thugs sat on the tables and leaned against the walls, all of them regarding him with a wary eye as he made his way upstairs.

He seated himself next to the blocky window and cracked the rickety shutters, hefting the crossbow that had been waiting for him and sighting down the quarrel.

It didn't take them long. Black-cloaked forms trotted into view, the gleam of armor visible where their cloaks parted. This would be the other half of the pincer team. K'dzok watched as their captain made a gesture, indicating they were to start their search with the hovel across the street first, and decided to help them out.

The orc captain flopped forward into the dust, the quarrel nailing the hood of his cloak to his head. His underlings charged the building where K'dzok sat, and he heard the door give way downstairs with a tired groan, followed by the roar of magical flame as it blasted out into the street. K'dzok opened the shutters wider and tilted back in his chair to get a better view down the street.

More black-cloaked figures were on their way, and in their midst, K'dzok spotted three looming above the rest, horns glinting dully. He smiled.

The thugs downstairs spilled out into the street, and crossbows clicked and hummed as they fired. The Steel Sheen mercenaries charged, some of them firing back, and a pair of thunderbolts from orc shamans crackled down the street. K'dzok reloaded his own crossbow and waited.

The mercenaries closed with his thugs, chasing them back inside, and he hefted his own crossbow, the shot going harmlessly high, the bolt head letting out a flare of crimson light. Shutters opened all along the street, and those quarrels all hit their mark, along with knives, a few table legs, and a smattering of javelins.

The Steel Sheen didn't buckle or panic. They were too well-trained for that. After the initial shock they started shooting back, and thunderbolts, fireballs, frost-blasts and more mundane projectiles flew right back as they charged the hovels or in some cases jammed the doors and set fire to them. It was a bloodbath. A broad, fiendish grin spread across K'dzok's face.

An earth elemental rose up from the street, and charged right into one tenement, demolishing it in heartbeats. Smoke and screams rose into the air.

"Is it time?" Nabniath whispered from the stairs, a grin as bright as his own on her gray, colorless face as her red-glowing eyes met his.

"It sure is." K'dzok hefted his axe.

Three unsteady-looking wrecks on the next street over erupted in a hail of cheap clapboard debris as pale blue forms stood up from where they'd been curled, the smell of rotting flesh souring the wind as the last light of the sun sank below the horizon, and animated vrykul corpses joined the fight.

K'dzok wasn't watching the carnage anymore. He was watching the way chill, eldritch light followed Nabniath's motions as she danced, lingering in the air with each pass of her arms and sweep of her legs, the whispered words of her incantations singing off of the bare, dusty walls against the backdrop of screams and cries wafting from the street as her minions woke and smashed their way into the mercenary ranks.

When the wall staved in beneath massive granite fists, he didn't even hesitate, just grabbed her around the waist, a scant breath ahead of the earth elemental's arm as it smashed through what was left of the roof and the floor, and dove out of the window.

They landed ungently on the back of a pair of orcs, and K'dzok grinned as he recognized Khaul's face, fixed in a rictus of death now, never to taste gnoll ribs again. He patted the orc's cooling cheek in thanks, and staggered to his feet, pulling Nabniath up as well.

She was already casting another spell, fingers brushing Khaul's greasy dreadlocks, and the orc got up to begin his short second life, glazed eyes seeking. K'dzok grunted as he was tackled, and Moag's pained gaze met his, quarrels still vibrating where they jutted from his shoulder. K'dzok shoved the pale blue troll aside a little less roughly than he would have otherwise.

His thugs were dwindling rapidly in number now, but more undead orcs, trolls, and a few goblins were rushing to keep the fight going as Nabniath danced over the battlefield, raising more of their number. A single undead vrykul continued to fight, one whole side of it blackened with magical fire that still burned, bare bones visible beneath the stars.

K'dzok turned. The three tauren were surrounded by only a remnant of their guard. He smiled, grip tightening on his axe, and charged.

A shrieking stream of brilliant magical energy flashed around and past him, smashing open a path, and K'dzok followed it in.

Ж

Mraugon had expected K'dzok to be hard to capture, had anticipated weeks, even months of tracking him across the known worlds. He hadn't expected this.

Oh, he'd been certain that the troll would bribe or intimidate allies into his service. He'd have been a fool not to. But a whole street full of thugs that fought and killed at his command – that Mraugon had _not_ anticipated. The battle should have been over in minutes, a quick capture and withdrawal, minimal muss and fuss. Local enforcement had been bribed to look the other way for a little while, but this . . . Mraugon let his gaze sweep over the wreckage of the slum. This was going to be a bit harder to explain, and it was already much more expensive.

Even now, new bodies, or rather, repurposed ones, were joining the fight, and the Steel Sheen mercenaries still on their feet and alive were far fewer than they'd started out.

Mraugon's eyes widened as a blast of raw magical power flared down the street, cutting through his guard. K'dzok was right on its heels, wild red hair like blood.

Oorom and Segat moved to engage him. They'd been briefed. They knew what they were up against. Mraugon signaled to his escort, whipping them into a charge in the other direction.

They had to bring down the witch.

Mraugon would kill her again himself.

Ж

K'dzok wasn't sure where the other tauren and his escort were going. There was no escape in that direction. They were after Nabniath probably. K'dzok wasn't worried. She could handle herself.

It wasn't until the two tauren left behind drew their weapons, a great sword and a pair of axes respectively, that he realized the third must have been Mraugon. The shaman was a lot more calculating than K'dzok would have given him credit for under the circumstances. Take out Nabniath, and he might still win.

K'dzok circled right. If the two of them could, they'd try to get to either side of him, force him to defend against one while the other came at him from the opposite direction. It was a good, solid, standard tactic.

K'dzok feigned a slight stumble. It would have been more believable with some blood on him, but that couldn't be helped. The tauren warriors continued to slowly close, clearly still hoping to pincer him. The one on the right, the one with the greatsword, moved to cut him off.

K'dzok feigned another stumble, grimacing. The tauren fighters stayed conservative, moving slowly with him, in no hurry to close the distance. K'dzok let out a rumbling growl, as though his fear was starting to get the better of him. Let them think he was weak. Let them make a stupid mistake. Pride was for amateurs.

His adversaries were obviously playing a straight game, closing the distance gradually. Damn them for being so justifiably cautious. K'dzok snorted in irritation, feigning another stumble. Neither tauren took the bait.

K'dzok chanced a glance over one shoulder.

Nabniath was nowhere in sight, but Mraugon was shrugging frost off of his cloak, two of his bodyguard frozen solid in blocks of magical ice.

There was motion out of the corner of his eye. K'dzok almost smiled. That would have spoiled things however.

He broke into a shambling, limping run that would take him too close to the tauren with the twin battleaxes, letting out a roar as he did, and spotted a conveniently placed corpse.

His fall was artful, and his shoulder took the brunt of the impact, roll carrying him just out of the way of the battleaxe and he ended on his back, deliberately widening his eyes as though he'd just realized his predicament. The tauren, nostrils flared, eyes alight with victory, raised one hoof, and brought it down with crushing force.

K'dzok caught it, and smiled as the axe that had never left his left hand, the unaugmented but still powerful one, bit mortally deep into the tauren's thigh. K'dzok rolled to his feet, gritted his teeth as that great sword came down, making his whole arm scream with pain with the force of the blow vibrating right to his bones as he met it with his axe.

His other arm pulled. He set his foot as the tauren brought the sword back up for another crushing blow, and ripped off the bull-man's leg he still had in his other hand. Blood sprayed everywhere as the tauren screamed, life gushing out in spurts, and he struck the warrior wielding the great sword across the face with the limb hard enough to knock him off balance.

The tauren staggered, blood spattering his face, trying to blink it out of his eyes as he brought his sword around. K'dzok was faster, and the grisly bludgeon hit his opponent across the face with a solid _crunk_ of breaking bone, the full strength of his augmented arm behind it.

The tauren went down, rolling onto his back, shards of bone protruding from his ruined eye socket. K'dzok grinned viciously, and brought the leg down again.

And again.

And again.

He didn't realize how hard he was breathing, how blazing hot his arm had become, until he stopped, the tauren's bovine face reduced to a smashed ruin. He looked up, blood thundering in his ears, lungs wheezing like a set of blackswith's bellows, and reached out to grab the face of the orc who was charging him.

He smiled as the mercenary squealed, and felt bone give beneath his hand, the heat in his shoulder blazing even hotter.

The unearthly wail that cut across his ears like a saw over bone made him instantly cold, and he whirled as Nabniath shrieked, lightning arcing through her body as she hung in Mraugon's grip, head thrown back, skin blackening and crisping away. He could only stare, frozen, petrified, unable to believe what he was seeing.

Ж

In the first moments of battle, Mraugon thought for sure the witch had him already. His men dropped around him as she danced through their midst like a phantom, appearing in a snap of light just long enough to deal death in a blast of fire or deathly cold or magical energy that ripped their souls right from their flesh, vanishing once more a heartbeat before blades and crossbow quarrels hissed through the air where she'd been.

The dead rose around them, and orcs and trolls screamed and cursed and died. Mraugon blasted the abominations with lightning and fire and frost, a fire elemental raging through the shambling ranks that rose ever unceasing.

He stood back to back with Gridis, the orc cursing and snarling as he fought.

With a wild laugh, the undead witch appeared, leaping toward him, gray hands dancing with deathly power, and Mraugon reached behind him, grabbed Gridis, and flung him right into her arms.

The orc went down, convulsing and shrieking in inhuman agony as her spell crackled over his body. Mraugon grabbed her by her wrists, gritting his teeth as her mad laughter sawed at his ears, and summoned all his power as he lifted her above the street by her slender arms.

Lightning arced through her, and she screamed, mad red eyes turning to brilliant electric blue. Mraugon tightened his grip, and poured it on. She started to smoke, wailing like a demon out of the deepest pits of the underworld. Her skin smoldered, curling and blackening like parchment, muscle and ligament burning away from the charring bone, hair turning to ash. Mraugon redoubled his efforts, feeling his fire elemental collapse behind him as he drew away the power that had sustained it, focusing it all into one last charge.

She had thwarted him once.

She would never do so again.

She flared like a star fallen to earth, blindingly, brilliantly bright, spine giving way with a weak pop, what was left of her lower body falling to pieces in the street.

The light died.

There was no deathly red radiance in her empty sockets any longer, only smoke, rising toward the cold sky.

Mraugon turned, bellowing over the streets, proclaiming his victory in a sonorous call that rang off of the walls and echoed through the streets. The last of his tattered bodyguards straightened, and the thugs around them started to melt away, back into the shadows.

Farther down the street, K'dzok stood, red animal eyes wide, axe hanging in his limp grasp.

Mraugon held the witch's burned corpse high in one hand and let out another bestial roar.

He had a bare moment to be startled as ruby light flared once more in those smoking sockets.

Ж

K'dzok started to run, letting out a roar of his own as he charged, grabbing his axe in both hands, fury pumping through him.

He was far, far too late.

With rattle of bones and a _snap_ of cartilage giving way, Nabniath grabbed Mraugon's face with the smoking, bony claw of her left hand, right arm breaking off at the shoulder, still hanging in his grip as she dove right into his wide open mouth. Mraugon's hand, half-raised to grab her wriggling spine, dropped, his whole body convulsing and jerking with a series of sickening snaps and wet tearing sounds, flesh bulging in places, the sight of it turning even K'dzok's stomach as he watched Nabniath eat the shaman from the inside out.

The tauren toppled forward, pelvis giving way with a sound there were no words for, legs splaying wide, and flesh tore as Nabniath slid out between his thighs, flesh red with blood, whole once more.

K'dzok looked at her as she tottered unsteadily to her feet, feeling something as close to reverent awe as he'd ever gotten, and probably ever would. She smiled at him with bloody teeth, and then reached in between them, and pulled out something meaty and pulpy.

"I saved you the heart," she purred, stepping forward, blood leaching gradually into her skin, the flesh slowly regaining its own deathly pallor.

K'dzok looked down at it as she laid it in his hand, studying it for a long moment.

It was chewy, going slickly down his throat. It really wasn't all that bad.

He smiled, holding the rest up to her lips, and his smile widened as she ate from his hand.

Ж

It wasn't exactly what he'd planned, but in a way, it was even more fitting.

Nabniath smiled brightly at him, Mraugon's long, powerful horns rising to either side of her face, framing her gray features and fine, white hair in perfect symmetry, the shaman's glass-eyed face resting over her breasts. The ochre swirls in his fur gave the cloak an appealing pattern, and it was more than generous enough to pool at her feet, the deep hood resting at her back at the moment.

K'dzok grinned back at her. Very fitting indeed.

He glanced up as Moag entered, giving Nabniath a wide berth. He was a smart one. His shoulder was still bandaged from where he'd taken the crossbow quarrels that would have claimed K'dzok's life. K'dzok's grin turned to a smirk as Moag knelt in front of him. He glanced up, but Nabniath was skipping up the stairs, playing with the wide wings of her Mraugon-fur cloak, giggling to herself.

His gaze dropped back down to Moag as the other troll bent forward, clawed hands unbuckling K'dzok's belt, drawing his loincloth aside. His lips closed gently around the head of K'dzok's engorging cock, pale blue contrasting with light green as he began to suck, and K'dzok spread his legs further to allow him better access, feeling that long tongue glide over his slit, swirling around the mushroom head of his penis. He ran his hand roughly through the coarse blue hair, and Moag pulled off his shaft, running his tongue down the underside of it, tracing the big vein that ran its length, dragging his saliva-slicked lips along each side of it as he continued to suck, bobbing back down, taking K'dzok deeper into his mouth.

K'dzok clasped his hands behind his neck, leaned back, and let him work.

With a glance up at him, Moag brought his hands slowly up K'dzok's tight, powerful thighs, sliding them up to his hips, fingers stroking. He sank lower on K'dzok's cock, and K'dzok felt Moag's throat, tight, and wet and beckoning. He held his hips still, waiting.

Moag didn't disappoint him, opening wide, forcing his own head down on K'dzok's thick penis, taking it into his throat, the swallowing action of his trachea pulsing pleasingly against K'dzok's hard, hot flesh, wet muscle stroking it as he sank lower until his nose was pressed into the thick, dark red hair of K'dzok's crotch. He pulled almost all the way off, and then did it again, deep-throating K'dzok's cock, motions becoming more urgent, as though he was actually getting off on what he was doing.

All at once, he pulled off, breathing hard, a line of saliva and precum connecting his lips to K'dzok's cock. He lifted it gently, even tenderly with his fingers, sliding his tongue once more along the bottom, down to K'dzok's big hairy balls. He lapped at the sack, letting out a slight moan, and sucked one egg-sized ball into his mouth, rolling it with his tongue, sucking gently before doing the same with the next one, lapping at the sack once more.

It felt startlingly good, and K'dzok leaned farther back, lifting his legs and putting his feet up on the edge of the bench he was sitting on. Moag's long nose nuzzled past his hairy ballsack, long tongue lapping along his taint. K'dzok froze as that tongue touched the edge of his asshole, the feel of hot breath blasting over the sensitive hairs in his crack startlingly electric.

He wanted Moag to stop.

He wanted Moag to keep going.

It was almost a relief when the other troll licked and sucked his way back up to K'dzok's cock, licking around the base, blowing hot air into his pubes, lips closing and sucking, sliding back up to the head.

It was almost a relief, except that even as Moag went down on him again, K'dzok could still feel that tingle over his asshole, that little area impossibly sensitized. He let out a growl that was half-frustration, half-lust, and started meeting Moag's bobs with thrusts of his hips, letting one leg slip back to the floor, Moag's hand closing gently around the back of the other thigh, thumb tenderly stroking the inside.

K'dzok let his head fall back, breathing hard now, eyes sliding shut. He felt Moag's other hand slide up his abdomen, thumb sweeping over the hairs of his crotch, skin sliding over his taut, muscular belly, callused palm rough as it traveled up his hairy chest, and it was a groan that came out this time as a pair of fingers closed lightly around one of his nipples, squeezing. He laid his own hand atop it, keeping it there over his heart. The fingers of the opposite hand sifted through pale blue hair.

K'dzok came hard, his whole body shuddering with his climax, shaft pulsing with the semen that blasted down Moag's warm, wet, welcoming throat. And yet, even as he came, he was all too aware of what clenched and relaxed between his legs with the shuddering aftermath. He was aware of Moag pulling off him, licking his softening cock, nuzzling his balls, licking them once more. He wanted Moag to do it again, wanted to feel that hot breath on his sphincter, that wet, warm tongue, flicking and gentle.

Moag released his balls, and K'dzok opened his eyes as the pale blue troll climbed slowly up over him, taking K'dzok's hand in one of his own, bringing it to his ass, dragging the fingertips over his own asshole. Moag was breathing hard as well, eyes wide. He flung his head back, throat working as he let out a soundless exhalation at the feel of K'dzok's finger gliding into him.

He was wet back there, K'dzok realized with a start, slick and oily. He'd been prepared for this. He looked up into Moag's face, studying the way the muscles on his face shifted, not in agony, but the complete opposite as he straddled K'dzok's hips. He reached back, one hand urging K'dzok on, the other gently stroking his cock, engorging once more with blood.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to K'dzok's, mouth opening and working. K'dzok couldn't resist, he opened his mouth, slid his tongue into Moag's mouth, exploring, what felt like nothing so much as a heavy current of electricity flowing between their lips, intoxicatingly powerful.

He bared his teeth as Moag broke the kiss, on the verge of a snarl, except that Moag's tender mouth and clever tongue were doing incredibly distracting things to his ear. In the midst of his own pleasure, pleasuring his mate back suddenly seemed like the most natural thing in the world, and he stroked Moag's slot, adding another finger, driving inward until he found that little spongy sweet spot his cock so often rubbed against. He was rewarded with a wanton gasp that was just on the edge of a whimper, and he quickened his pace.

"Please," Moag begged. "Please, my lord. Give it to me."

K'dzok's penis was rock-hard between one heartbeat and the next, the pleading words begging him to take what he wanted turning him on more than he could ever recall in his life. He withdrew his fingers, prepared to thrust upward, ready to fuck Moag senseless, but Moag's fingers were already closing around his cock, and K'dzok hesitated as he felt the lips of Moag's sphincter come to rest on his cock. It was pleasurably painful, waiting as Moag slowly pressed down onto the head of his penis, pale blue lips parted as he gasped for breath. It was strange to see him take such pleasure in the act, to revel in the way he was about to be put to use, even striking in a way.

K'dzok held himself still, waiting for the moment when Moag's pleasure would evaporate, wanting to see the transition, but Moag's pleasure only seemed to deepen the more he took K'dzok into him, until his buttocks rested on K'dzok's flesh. He rose up slightly, came back down, let out another gasp, and began to flex his hips, belly tightening as he flexed his knees, sliding up and down on K'dzok's thick girth. Abruptly he leaned forward again, still bobbing on K'dzok's shaft, and kissed him again. The force of it was even more powerful this time, snapping through him like a stroke of lightning, and he felt something give way. He began to thrust, hips slamming upward, hands closing like clamps on Moag's hips, driving toward Moag's joy nut, prodding it from every angle. Moag cried out again and again, wordless exclamations of pleasure, arching back as he rode K'dzok.

K'dzok couldn't have stopped himself if he'd wanted, and he didn't want to. Something was happening to him, something he couldn't explain, but didn't question. He was a creature of passion, always had been, and he gave himself over to the thing that welled up within him without hesitation, sitting up and grabbing Moag's hair, pressing the other troll's mouth to his own, ignoring the way their tusks scraped each others' faces, thrusting harder and faster, Moag's arms wrapping around him.

He felt Moag come, jizz spattering onto the hairs of his hard belly, thrust into the contracting, throbbing heat that constricted around his shaft, three strokes, four, and then he came himself on the next stroke, his seed blasting deep into Moag's body, heart thundering, breath rasping in his chest.

He wrapped an arm around Moag's back, and leaned forward, getting down on one knee, laying the blue-skinned troll out beneath him, and then laying on on top of him. He licked Moag's lips, feeling that current between them once more as he kissed him.

Moag looked perfectly and utterly satisfied, smelled of satisfaction even, meeting K'dzok's kisses with a relaxed languor that spoke of satiation. He kissed K'dzok's neck, licked it.

"You're fucking magnificent, my lord," he said in a half-growled whisper.

"Yeah, I know," K'dzok murmured back, eyes sliding half-shut. He felt sated but for the memory of hot breath along his ass-crack, a wet tongue just touching the edge. It was almost as much a physical ache as a mental one. Suddenly, he wanted it, wanted Moag to go further.

He got up, straddling Moag's face, and got down on his knees, lowering his ass over Moag's mouth.

Moag, clever troll that he was, didn't say a word, didn't do anything to interrupt. He just grabbed hold of K'dzok's ass cheeks, spread them apart, and his long tongue licked around the rim of K'dzok's hole.

K'dzok gasped, lips pulling back from his teeth in a soundless snarl, and pushed himself down further. Moag's tongue dragged long and hard across his entrance, lapping again, beginning to thrust with increasing force.

K'dzok let out a slight sigh, and opened, rewarded a heartbeat later as that warm, wet muscle pressed into him, entering him, making his need more bearable even as it inflamed it further, shoving into him, soft and yet with just enough of a bumpy texture that he could feel it as it swept over his sensitive inner flesh. He groaned again, because he knew instinctively what was coming next. He knew what he needed now, knew that it would torment him until he was satisfied, sated, complete.

Just like Moag.

He rolled over onto his back, pulling Moag with him, and to his surprise, Moag didn't immediately position himself, but kissed the lips he'd been licking at just a moment before, and then rose up over K'dzok, kissing his mouth as well. He took one of K'dzok's hands in his own, sucked the middle finger deep into his mouth, held it there for a moment, and then guided it down to K'dzok's sphincter, rubbing the pad around his hole, massaging it, pausing after a few strokes to wet it again, then got down, and a slick stream of saliva dripped from between his lips.

K'dzok felt it dribble over his slot, let Moag work his hand, using his own digit to massage it in. It wasn't what he'd have done. He'd have been hip deep in Moag already, spunk squelching in his male snatch.

He let his head fall back as Moag began to press inward, and his eyes widened as not one finger, but two, his and one of Moag's delved inward, Moag guiding his finger unerringly to-

K'dzok let out a noise that was halfway between a deep growl and what could almost have been a purr.

"Stroke that for just a little while," Moag whispered. "I'll be back in a moment."

K'dzok didn't even think about how it would look if any of his other underlings came up and found him fingering his own hole like a slut, just stroked and gasped. It seemed like mere heartbeats until Moag returned, pulling K'dzok's finger out of his slot, licking it once more with his tongue. He took a deep drink from the stein in one hand, swirled it around in his mouth, and lowered his head once more between K'dzok's wantonly spread legs.

K'dzok opened and felt warm ale flood down into him. Moag's finger followed a moment after, working it in, massaging, and the wet, slick sensation felt good, the finger that glided over that button of flesh that made pleasure vibrate along his nerves gently firm.

He did it again and again, until it was spilling out of K'dzok's hole, trickling over his ass, working in two fingers, massaging, stroking, caressing, always rubbing up against that pleasure center deep in his body. K'dzok could feel it strengthening in him, the need for a completion he'd never before sought, never _wanted_ until now.

Moag added a third finger, and K'dzok lay back, panting, whole body become a blissful ache centered around his asshole, feeling it stretch wider and wider.

He couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed Moag by the back of his neck, dragged the other troll's face up to his, smashing his mouth into Moag's in a brutal kiss.

"_Do_ it!" he snarled.

Moag kissed him back, drawing his tongue into his mouth, and K'dzok felt the other's troll's cock come to rest against his loosened entrance. He opened wide.

Pressure built, and K'dzok wanted to punch Moag, wanted to break his face, because he was going so _achingly _slow. It built, just to the edge of pain, but Moag had done his job well, and his corona slid in, the fit tight but not more than mildly uncomfortable, and he continued to ply K'dzok's tongue with his own, distracting him.

It seemed like forever until the other troll's shaft rubbed against his joy button, gliding past it, and K'dzok melted in Moag's arms, not caring now how much noise he made as he accepted that thick, rigid shaft into his body.

Moag drove slowly in, and pulled just as agonizingly slowly out. "Harder!" K'dzok growled, tightening his grip on Moag's neck. "_Faster!"_

Moag complied, picking up the pace, and K'dzok groaned and cursed and panted as he was fucked. Moag was thorough, pulling almost all the way out, driving all the way back in to the hilt, withdrawing only to slide inward again.

It was unlike anything K'dzok had ever experienced, mind-blowing pleasure shredding his consciousness, swallowing him in electrical heat that made every nerve ending in his body shriek in ecstatic pleasure. All he knew was the throbbing rush of the hot, hard flesh moving inside him, the hands that gripped behind his knees, the wild, inescapable flush of sizzling energy that coursed through him.

He came, and every heartbeat was like an earthquake, shaking him until he thought he'd vibrate apart, slamming into him like a flurry of thunderbolts.

He lay, spent and gasping in Moag's embrace, dimly aware of the fresh wash of warm fluid inside his body.

Ж

"We could stay," Nabniath said playfully, running one cold finger down K'dzok's right arm, smiling up at him. "The food's good, and the sex seems to agree with you."

K'dzok didn't shy away from her touch. The cold felt good on his flesh. He stood, staring out toward where the first sliver of the rising sun was glowing over the rooftops, painting them blood-red.

He was tempted. He was sorely tempted. He wanted to ram his cock into Moag's body all over again, have Moag's cock slamming into his own hole, until they were both covered in sweat and spunk again.

But even more than that, he wanted to find Undoon. He wanted to choke the shit out of the orc warlock and make him scream for mercy. He wanted to beat him to death with his bare fists. It wasn't a desire for vengeance. It was a desire to see the master of the Steel Sheen, a powerful creature in his own right, left dead in a gutter like a back-alley orc stripling.

He wanted to track down Heironymous, rip off his lower jaw, and listen to him gurgle and struggle to scream while he fucked what was left of the human mage's face before he raped his ass with his own blood as lube.

When it came down to it, K'dzok was a troll with very basic desires.

"No," he said after a moment. "But we'll come back."

Nabniath laughed wildly and spun away from him. He didn't turn to watch her go, though a smile curved his own lips. Her thoughts were a reflection of his own. They'd come back, and Shattrath would make a splendid hunting ground for both of them alike.

"What was it like?" he asked suddenly, not even sure of why he was curious. "When Mraugon sent all that lightning through you. Did you . . . die?"

Nabniath paused, and for the first time that he could recall, the whimsical smile faded from her features. For a moment, she looked almost human.

"My heart . . . beat," she said after a long moment. "It was terrifying. Because . . . I _didn't_ die. For a moment . . I lived." She turned away, slipping down the stairs, wrapping her tauren-fur cloak close around herself, as though in the hot, fetid air, she actually felt cold.

K'dzok let her go, and stared out over the rooftops, but he was thinking of a pair of jade eyes and a lovely, pale face beneath curls the color of thick honey, and wondering if he might not just run into him again when he returned to Azeroth. His smile turned dark and savage at the thought, and he licked his lips.

"It's too bad Mraugon wasn't more subtle. Here you are, all alone, your pet witch gone, just the two of us."

K'dzok stiffened at the words, delivered in girlish tones ringing with amusement and mock-ruefulness. He turned, catching sight of a familiar blood elf female, her glimmering, luminous green eyes laughing at him, hands on her slim waist. Then, as now, her golden skirt was slit up to the knee, long black leather boots clinging to her slim legs, her rose-colored blouse with its fur lining hugging her shoulders, leaving their tops bare. Her blond hair was a soft, pale gold cascade over her shoulder, trailing down to her bosom.

She smiled. "Undoon said we had to make sure you were captured. He didn't say we had to play war with your little crop of thugs like the rest of them." She cocked her head. "You made such a _lovely_ rabbit." She giggled.

He rushed her, moving fast, right hand reaching out.

No strange tingling feeling overtook him this time, no _twist_ that spoke of his very bones being shifted.

Her green eyes widened as his hand closed around her face. Her small, slender skull gave with a wet, meaty _crunch_, blood gushing between his fingers.

For a moment K'dzok held the ruin of her head in his hand, trying to understand what had changed, and then let her corpse drop to the filthy brick of the rooftop, glancing around. He spotted her twin a rooftop away just before she toppled off the edge of it, a blood-slicked arrow-head protruding from between her teeth, the fel light in her eyes dying as she tumbled toward the street below. The blood elf who'd been standing behind her lowered his bow.

With a start, K'dzok recognized Loiath. He smirked after a moment.

Ж

"The bastards killed Hiath, then," Loiath said quietly, hand tightening around his ale mug.

"Yeah." K'dzok studied the blood elf. He looked relatively hale for having been beaten and abandoned to the tender mercies of Northrend by his superiors in the Steel Sheen.

"The main body of the guild is on the way to Warsong Camp in Ashenvale." Loiath cocked his head slightly to one side. "Well, what's left of the camp anyway. Not much at this point from what I understand." He leaned forward. "They say Undoon himself is there."

K'dzok's eyebrows rose at that, and he leaned back, a smile crossing his lips. "That so?"

Ж

* * *

**Author's Post-Script Notes:**

I leave you with my customary request for constructive criticism and ideas where I can improve my writing. Help me be a better writer, and I'll give you better stuff to read.

Also, once again, thanks goes to you wonderful folks who were good enough to leave me reviews thus far!


	14. Act I Scene XIII: Opera Endings

**Author's Notes:**

**I know, I know, it's been a while right? But hey, my muse finally let me finish the next chapter! Woohoo!**

**This one is a little bit longer than usual (like 1.5x), but I couldn't find a good place to break it up.**

* * *

Act I Scene XIII

Operas Don't Have Happy Endings

"I'm not sure I can trust you any more."

In spite of the teasing tone, Nathiel couldn't help but glance at Ambryn's expression for reassurance, grateful that his complexion hid the rush of heat to his face. The human mage had a teasing smile on his lovely lips, jade eyes dancing as he seated himself on the couch and crossed one leg over the other.

"I . . . didn't want to intimidate you."

Damn that fucking leech elf anyway, standing around outside the apartment building like some kind of psychopath stalker, waiting to ambush Ambryn. He'd been getting off on seeing the two of them kiss, the sick little voyeur. The evidence had been right there in the front of his pants.

Nathiel still felt a thread of aggravation at the memory of Ambryn's eyes widening, dropping below the blood elf's belt.

"It's ten inches – you can have it all if you want it," the bastard had said shamelessly after a moment, grinning, putting his hands on his hips.

Nathiel would have punched him if he hadn't seen his lover's jade eyes drop below his _own_ belt, expression turning thoughtful. Of course, his mollification had been short-lived as realization that he'd been found out set in.

"So, how big are you _really_?" Ambryn asked, amused expression still on his pale, pretty face, distracting Nathiel from his thoughts.

"Fourteen . . . inches." Nathiel cleared his throat. "I would have told you . . . eventually."

Ambryn laughed, the bright sound ringing through the room, and held out his hands, expression turning rueful. "I'm not angry at you. I actually think it's kind of sweet. Underhanded, but sweet."

Looking into that smiling face, Nathiel couldn't help but smile back. He prowled toward the couch, but didn't take Ambryn's hands, mock-tackling him instead with a low growl, careful, so painstakingly careful with Ambryn's fragile body, mesmerized by the feel of soft skin under his hands, kissing that graceful neck and rolling onto his back, his giggling lover nestled securely in his lap, wrapped in his arms.

"Do you think he'll be all right?" Ambryn's tone was soft, pensive. "It wasn't that long ago that we found him. The Outlands are dangerous."

Nathiel fought down a surge of irritation at the way the corrupted _quel'dorei_ continued to crop up, tucking Ambryn's head under his chin as he held him. "He seems like a capable hunter, and . . . there's much more in the Outlands for him to . . . feed on." The words tasted faintly revolting.

"I'm sorry." Ambryn's tone was repentant. He turned, shifting in Nathiel's lap, finger tracing whimsical designs on his shirt. "You're so good to me."

Nathiel tightened his embrace slightly. "I wouldn't change a thing about you." He chuckled after a moment. "Even if it means picking filthy, smelly blood elves up out of the snow every so often."

He didn't tell Ambryn the other part that was bothering him, the way the leech elf had promised he'd be back, that he'd wait, even if he waited forever, because it was stupid and there was no reason to be threatened by the fervor in those unnatural fel green eyes. He fully intended for the pale-skinned fucker to be waiting until he went to his grave.

One way or the other.

He was distantly aware of the the sound of Ambryn's sigh, and then that warm, sweet, delightful mouth was light on his, and he forgot everything but the human in his arms, deepening the kiss, watching those glorious jade eyes slide closed, closing his own as well. He didn't need to open them to find the buttons of Ambryn's shirt, callused hands sliding over his lover's ribs, soft skin beneath his touch as he delved inward with his tongue, tangling in the motions of the dance that ensued. His fingers slid under Ambryn's waistband, cupping his bottom, lifting, and Ambryn obediently shifted, straddling his thighs.

Nathiel opened his eyes, sensual heat smoldering in him as he watched the flush of warm blood under pale skin, rosy color flooding into Ambryn's lovely face. He ran a light finger over his human lover's entrance, and smug, masculine satisfaction combined with lust to make his heart beat faster as Ambryn arched, hips grinding pleasurably against Nathiel's crotch. Nathiel's cock was a thick, hot, hard slab down his thigh, straining against suddenly tight trousers. He didn't release Ambryn's mouth as the mage arched, but stayed with him, kept control, knowing he was driving Ambryn wild and reveling in it. He tapped his finger against that bud in the valley between Ambryn's legs, stroked it, and let him only briefly up for air.

He would never give this up. Never.

He was dimly aware of Ambryn's gentle hand curved around the back of his head, the fingers of the other hand at work on the buttons of his trousers, and he let Ambryn's mouth go at last, kissing his chin, his jaw, suckling on the pulsating vein at the right side of his throat, breathing deeply and drawing in the clean scent of him, soap and desire and just the slightest trace of mint mingling with a taste and smell he could only define as _Ambryn_.

He pulled off the human's shirt, tugging it down off of his shoulders and arms, grabbed his bottom with one hand and wrapped his other arm around Ambryn's back, and reversed their positions, laying Ambryn on his back on the couch, not bothering with the button on his trousers, just grabbing the waistband and pulling down, following the retreating fabric with his lips, closing his mouth briefly around his lover's penis and testicles, dragging his tongue along the inside of a soft thigh, down a perfectly curved calf, throwing the slacks aside and pressing a kiss to the inside of each of Ambryn's ankles as he took them in his hands, then licking and kissing his way back down to that vertex between those marvelous thighs, hands sliding down to the backs of Ambryn's knees.

Nathiel hunkered down, lingering for a moment on the curves of that that divine rump, mouthing the soft flesh, grazing it ever so lightly with his teeth. He grinned in anticipation, licked his lips, and prepared to partake of Ambryn's most intimate treasure.

His head jerked up and back at the sharp and completely unexpected taste of strawberry on his tongue. He blinked, staring at the pink bud and feeling just the littlest bit betrayed.

"Sorry. I – I thought . . ."

Ambryn's tone told Nathiel that his shock and slight disappointment were written all too clearly on his features, and he felt chagrin as he looked into his lover's apprehensive eyes. Ambryn had his bottom lip between his teeth, apology in every line of his face.

"It's just . . . different," Nathiel managed after a moment, working up a smile. It wasn't as though he didn't _like_ the taste of strawberries. He just . . . didn't like them _there_. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and went back to Ambryn's lips, trying to forget the strong taste in the lightly sweet, subtle flavors that _belonged_ to his lover. He was fully hard again in heartbeats, lust as strong as ever.

It wasn't as though he was really settling, but . . . well, he _had_ been kind of looking forward to that part.

Still, the flavored fluid did its job well, eliminating the need for the small bottle of virgin olive oil he'd planted surreptitiously next to the couch while Ambryn was getting ready this morning in anticipation for what he planned for later, and Nathiel let out a heartfelt noise of pleasure as Ambryn's delicate, slick inner flesh glided pleasurably around his shaft with welcome pressure, each noise his human lover made resonating with something deep inside him.

He started out with a moderated, steady pace, intent on making it last, taking his time making love to his beau's rapturous body. He wasn't in a hurry, not at the moment. They still had the lion's share of the afternoon and all night long with no engagements, no distractions. He kept his gaze on Ambryn's face, drinking in the sight of him, expression awash in pleasure as the human mage surrendered himself, offered himself willingly, and somewhere in accepting that surrender, in the hands that glided over his chest and shoulders and through his hair, in the mouth that he kissed, in the sounds that Ambryn made, Nathiel lost control, the need welling up in him too great to resist, an ache for completion that wouldn't be denied any longer, that raged stronger with each stroke, each kiss, each cry, each caress, each hot breath.

He felt Ambryn's body contract rapidly around his pulsating shaft, thrust inward, and came, seed flooding from his body, ecstasy slamming through his veins. He opened his eyes, looked into Ambryn's sultry, satisfied jade gaze, and smiled, just basking in the afterglow. There was no hurry, no rush. Nathiel nuzzled the side of Ambryn's neck, just drawing on the scent of him as he held him close. This would never end. He would come back to it again and again, this familiar bliss, and the thought was sweeter balm than any ambrosia.

"I'm going to go wash," Ambryn said quietly after the silence had drawn long.

Nathiel let out a contented sigh against the underside of his jaw. "Mmm." He opened one eye and raised his head, regarding his lover lazily. "That uh . . . strawberry stuff. Do you have more of it?"

Ambryn blinked, looking at him uncertainly. "Yes."

Nathiel gave him a slow grin. "Can I . . . have a look at it?"

Ambryn blushed, and nodded.

He brought it out of the bathroom, a small glass bottle full of pale pink liquid, and Nathiel took it from him, still smiling, watching as Ambryn gave him one last uncertain look, and then went back into the bathroom, the sound of running water emerging from the half-open door moments later. Nathiel waited until he heard the change in the sound that indicated Ambryn was under the showerhead.

Then he walked around the couch, opened the window, and chucked the bottle sidearm with all of his strength before closing it again. Even more satisfied now than a moment ago, he sprawled on the couch to wait.

He didn't wait idly of course, gaze wandering over the room. They'd had sex against two of the four walls in here already. That left two more, the door as well if he counted it separately. His smile widened as his gaze dropped to the carpet. He could _definitely_ check that off the list. That left the dinner table, the chairs, the slender table against the wall near the door, and the chest of drawers in the corner. Nathiel glanced thoughtfully at the small table near the end of the couch. Too small and light to bear their combined weight and withstand the force of his thrusts, but it would still be close enough to count if they did it _over_ it . . .

There was a knock at the door. It was too solid to be Annatta, and she would have tried the handle first anyway, accustomed to walking right into Ambryn's apartment like she owned the place. The knock came again, not overly quick, but firm, rhythmic, confident. Nathiel grabbed his trousers, slid them on without bothering with buttoning them, and crossed to the door, curious.

He looked down, and blue eyes widened slightly as they met his silver-eyed gaze. Something sparked in them without being reflected on the chiseled face, and vanished. He was muscular, masculine, and he held himself confidently, like a fighter, blond hair cropped short, tall for a human, though he was still a full head shorter than Nathiel.

If Nathiel had met him at a bar more than a few months back, before he'd stumbled across Ambryn, he wouldn't have hesitated to offer to buy him a drink and try to talk his way into the human's bed. As it was, his presence here and his manner told Nathiel one thing.

He was competition.

"Is Ambryn here?" There wasn't any aggression in the low voice, just frank inquiry as he met Nathiel's gaze.

Nathiel's eyebrows rose briefly and he glanced down at the blotches of white moisture caught in the dusting of night-blue hair on his tight-muscled purple abdomen, running his fingers through the evidence of Ambryn's climax, bringing them up to eye level. "Yup."

The blue eyes started to narrow, blazing for just a heartbeat before the blond mastered himself. It was enough to confirm Nathiel's guess. "I'd like to talk with him."

"He's actually in the shower at the moment." Nathiel fought down the urge to punch the human in the face despite the cold anger roused in him just knowing what he was here for. Ambryn didn't seem all that fond of him killing or crippling assholes. Doubtless he'd be less than enthusiastic if it happened on his doorstep. "I can tell him you stopped by."

"Nathiel? Who is it?"

Nathiel felt a muscle twitch in his jaw.

"Ambryn – it's me." The human's voice carried abominably well – the words too fast for Nathiel to crush his throat. A smile crossed the human's lips.

Nathiel glanced over his shoulder. Ambryn leaned out of the bathroom, eyes wide, towel clasped to his chest. "Hector?"

"Hey sweetheart." Hector's smile widened. Nathiel felt his right hand clench into a fist, stopping the motion before his arm did more than shift slightly because he'd almost punched Hector in the face for daring to use the endearment.

"This isn't a good time." Ambryn vanished back into the bathroom. Nathiel could hear the tension in his voice.

"I'm starting to think it never is." Hector put his hands on his hips. "But hey, if I'm going to marry you some day, I'm going to have to take the bad times with the good, right?"

The blue eyes flicked back to Nathiel for just a heartbeat, and the rage that been about to explode cooled in an instant, not fading, but channeled by understanding. Nathiel grinned after a moment, but there was no warmth in it. "Funny."

"I'll be here all week, _and _the rest of Ambryn's life." Hector's tone became downright jovial.

Not fucking likely. Nathiel bit the words back.

"Hector." Ambryn's voice drifted out of the bathroom, a note in it that Nathiel didn't recognize. "There's a café a block down the street and two blocks left." There was a moment of silence, and then "Twenty minutes."

"I'm always willing to wait on you, beautiful." Hector's eyebrows rose, smile widening, and he gave Nathiel a wink. "Twenty minutes."

Nathiel slammed the door in Hector's face.

Ambryn was still wrapped in his towel, standing next to the bathtub, gaze on the floor, clearly lost in his own thoughts, expression pensive. He didn't look up as Nathiel entered, didn't see the thunderheads gathering in his features.

"I'm sorry, but . . . would you come with me?" he asked in a small voice.

Nathiel blinked, temper utterly disarmed, because he'd been expecting to be asked for understanding, to wait here, had even been prepared to say yes despite the fact that just the thought clawed at his gut and it would have been a lie.

"I should be brave enough to face him, to tell him that what we had was over seven years ago when it ended then." Ambryn closed his eyes, genuine pain and regret crossing his features, a welter of emotion that it hurt Nathiel just to see. "I should be able to do this myself, but I-"

"Shhh." Nathiel had Ambryn in his arms in a heartbeat, the last of his anger slipping away. He settled himself on the edge of the bathtub and pulled Ambryn across his thighs, just holding him, because, a little to his own surprise, he understood. Ambryn wasn't confused about who or what he wanted. He felt pain because he could never return the feelings of someone he'd cared for, _still_ cared for a great deal, someone who still meant a great deal to him. He didn't want to tell them that. He didn't want to hurt them.

For a moment Nathiel pitied Hector. He almost felt sympathy for Belauq. Almost, except Belauq had tried to take away the very treasure that he held in his arms now. The anger slipped back in, but it energized him, made him think clearly, because if this human _was_ anything like Belauq, he wouldn't give up easily either.

"I wouldn't let you go without me," Nathiel said quietly, truth in every word.

Ambryn relaxed against him with a sigh. "I'm such a coward. You're so good to me."

Nathiel smiled faintly, ruefully, because he had a feeling his life from now on might be a little bit easier if Ambryn _was_ a coward.

"No," he said softly. "You're just good. I wouldn't change that for the world."

It was forty minutes rather than twenty. Nathiel didn't feel a hint of guilt over that. Ambryn was sitting on the couch when he emerged from the shower, jade gaze lost somewhere beyond the walls, hands clasped in his lap, pale and still. He looked up when Nathiel came to stand in front of him, but the smile he tried to muster crumbled. There was hurt in those lovely eyes, and Nathiel would have gone down to that café and beat the blond human to within an inch of his life if he thought it wouldn't make things worse. As it was, he still gave the notion serious consideration.

Ambryn closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stood. "I . . . um . . . I'm ready."

Nathiel smiled gently at him, wrapped his arm around his lover's waist, and walked him to the door.

The walk down the street to the café was quiet. He could feel Ambryn leaning against him, the pace slow. Ambryn was dreading this. It was all too easy to see.

Hector glanced up from the table where he was sitting, a glass of water in front of him, barely touched, a tray of olives, flatbread, and a selection of those complicated spreads humans delighted in putting on their food at one elbow. His eyebrows rose slightly, a hitch in the smile that spread across his handsome face.

"Couldn't escape the warden, eh?" The blue eyes were cool.

Ambryn looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "I asked him to come, actually."

"I can assure you, you're perfectly safe with me." Hector gestured at the seats across the table. "I wouldn't do anything you wouldn't want me to."

"Hector – I don't want to hurt you." Ambryn's word were quiet. "I-"

"Then don't." Hector's smile died at last, and he sat up straight from where he'd been leaned back in his chair, expression serious. "I still love you, Ambryn. You're the only thing that makes me whole, keeps me sane, gives me the strength to drive forward. I've spent the last seven years of my life working toward the moment when I could come to you and free you from Tybalt's crushing hand."

"Hector, I-"

"You can't break my heart." Hector's smile returned, but it was a little sad. He stood, rounding the table.

Nathiel couldn't help himself. He tensed.

Hector got down on one knee, there in front of everyone, the people on the street on the other side of the windows, the other patrons of the café and the staff, and took Ambryn's hands in his. "You can't break my heart, my sweet, beautiful Amber, because you've already got the whole thing." He looked up into Ambryn's face, expression earnest. "Even now, you still have feelings for me. I _know_ you do. I can see it in your face, your eyes, hear it in your voice, in the way you breathe. I can feel it through your skin, the pulse of blood in your veins."

"I do."

The two quiet words were like the world falling out from under Nathiel's feet. He thought his heart would stop. He was frozen, unable to believe his ears.

Hector was smiling, blue eyes brilliant, countenance radiant.

"I still remember those afternoons in my room and yours, the picnics, the horseback rides through the country, the luncheons at your aunt's house." Ambryn's voice strengthened. "It's like . . . like walking through an old house. The walls, the carpets, the pictures, the furniture. It's all familiar, and comfortable, and so beloved, and so, so dear." Ambryn drew in a deep, shaking breath. "But I don't live there anymore, Hector. And no matter how much I wish it would, no matter how I try to make it fit, to make _myself_ fit back in that time, that place, I _can't._ I'm not who I was then. I can't go back to it."

For a heartbeat, Hector's expression was utterly still, like a man dead who didn't even know it had happened, alive in one moment, passing so swift it had left no mark upon him.

It was Ambryn who let out a sob.

Hector took in a deep breath, raised one of Ambryn's hands to his face, and held it there, squeezing his eyes shut, agony written in every line of his body. A single tear traced a shining trail down his face.

But when the blue eyes opened, it wasn't acceptance, nor grief in them. There was no loss, only grim determination, handsome face hardening into something coldly statuesque.

"I don't believe you," he said quietly, reaching up with his other hand, a tear from Ambryn's face catching fire in the late afternoon sun as it shattered the light there on his finger. "Or you wouldn't feel anything. You would walk away with no regrets. You still love me, Ambryn Dellani, and I will make you see it, make you admit it, and I will show you that I am worthy of your love." He stood, not releasing Ambryn's hand, holding it over his heart. "Give me just one chance, and I won't take you back to the past, beloved, make you fit into some old memory. I'll build you a future."

"Stop it." The words were out of Nathiel's mouth before he'd even realized they were on his lips, emerging a harsh growl. He was on his feet, fists clenched, fighting to keep from doing something Ambryn really wouldn't forgive. "Can't you see how you're tearing him apart? He doesn't want this!"

"You've known him for a few months. I've known him for years." Hector didn't look away from Ambryn's features.

"No – Hector, I _can't_! Don't-"

"Tonight. If you can walk away from me after tonight, if your heart is really so far beyond my reach that I can never get you back, then I will never ask you to look at me again. I will leave, and trouble you no more with my presence. But if you can't – if you can't bring yourself to cast away everything that we were, everything we could be, then I want you to admit to me and yourself that you still love me, and that we still have a life and a future together."

"Not a chance in hell!" Nathiel had had enough. He grabbed Hector by the front of his shirt, using his grip as leverage to lift the human off of his feet. "Elune help me, if you don't stop hurting him I will tear you to pieces with my bare hands!"

"What's the matter? Afraid of a little competition?" Hector smirked in Nathiel's grip. "Are you really so afraid that one chance to win his heart is all I need? Kill me then. I can't live without him anyway."

Nathiel snorted, breath blasting from his nostrils. "Be sure and tell your god you asked for it," he snarled as he drew back his fist.

"That's enough."

Nathiel's fist halted in mid-punch. A gentle hand was resting lightly on his arm. He looked into Ambryn's eyes, and to his dismay, he saw once more a hint of that chill in those jade depths, hardening them.

"Swear on your honor." Ambryn didn't look at Hector. His expression had gone calm, _too_ calm, as though he'd withdrawn somewhere deep inside. "Swear that if I walk away from you tonight, that this is the end. You will accept my word."

Nathiel looked to Hector, and found his own misgiving reflected in the human's blue-eyed gaze. Still, he nodded. "On my honor," Hector said quietly.

Ambryn didn't stumble until they were out of sight of the café, that terrible, chill strength abandoning him, and Nathiel caught him up between one step and the next. Ambryn made no sound, but his body shook with his soundless tears.

Nathiel should have felt satisfied. He already knew how this would end. All he felt was a little cold, and a little sad, and more than a little frustrated, because he knew that this was the only way to end it short of Hector's blood on his own hands.

If he'd thought there was even a chance Ambryn could still love him afterward, he'd have done it in a heartbeat.

Ж

It wasn't the grace or the beauty of the spaces she passed through that struck Shaenae, but the _luxury_. Gilt twined around the richly carved legs of the chairs, gleamed in the inlay on the table, adorned the fresco on the ceiling of the room where she waited outside the office of Ambassador Dellani. The silver pitcher of water on its tray was brightly polished, sparkling with beaded moisture, glasses of cut crystal throwing back fiery brilliance as they caught and refracted the luminance from the silver lamps.

It was designed to impress. Shaenae only felt mildly discomfited by the blithe display of such wealth – it felt almost gratuitous in its opulence.

"The ambassador will see you now." The human woman wore a suit that was clearly tailored to fit her, giving an impression of formal wealth that fit the surroundings far better than Shaenae's hunting leathers and forest cloak, her high-heeled shoes secured with thin straps clearly intended for show and not for long use. She was slender, not muscular, and her hair was pulled back, tight and controlled, her face, in its doll-like perfection, clearly touched by cosmetics. Her smile was utterly impersonal.

She, like the surroundings, made Shaenae slightly uncomfortable.

"Thank you." Shaenae rose to her feet and followed the smaller human towards a door. Beyond that was an office and a pair of double doors, a large desk off to one side, a large mirror behind it. The human knocked once on the polished wood of the doors.

"Enter." The voice from beyond the door was male and matter-of-fact.

The human male on the other side was dressed in elaborate steel-gray robes, the high collar reaching up to the bottom of his chin, the fabric embroidered in intricate patterns of runes. His hair was short at sides and back, the blond hair on top tightly curled close to his skull. He studied her as she entered with dark, animal eyes, standing behind the bulk of his massive desk, the large window behind him giving a view of the spires of Dalaran. He didn't smile.

"Thank you, Eanté. That will be all."

"Very good, sir." Eanté nodded and withdrew, closing the doors behind her.

"Hunter Shaenae." The Ambassador's face still had no smile. He held up a sketch, done by a scribe's hand in Valiance Keep, twin to one of the two faces in enamel on the portrait she bore. Those brown eyes were even more predatory than before.

"You will tell me exactly how you've come to have a likeness of my son, why you possess it, and why you're searching for him. If I do not like your answers or I am dissatisfied as to their veracity, your people's propensity for vanishing in plain sight will become pronounced to a degree that will surprise even you. Is that in any way unclear?"

Ж

Nathiel couldn't help but admire the lines of Ambryn's back above the edge of the towel despite the circumstances. He leaned against the door frame of the bedroom, and watched as the human sorted through his wardrobe, tossing out several shirts that were actually rather fetching in Nathiel's opinion, including one in a light, sheening lavender he thought would look extremely appealing. They lay discarded on the bed, a panoply of color.

Nathiel briefly considered seducing Ambryn on top of them, shucking his own clothes to make love to him again and again. By the time Hector arrived, Ambryn would be asleep, exhausted.

Only that wouldn't solve the problem, and he knew it.

Still, he wondered at this sudden inability to pick clothes when he'd seen Ambryn cheerfully throw on -

Nathiel started, straightening, because the formal shirt that came out of the closet was steel-gray, high-collared, with long sleeves embroidered around the oversized cuffs in elaborate runes. Ambryn was looking at it with a resigned expression on his face. He dropped the towel, and Nathiel forgot to follow its progress to the floor, unable to shake the certainty that this particular garment bore a family significance.

It was a calculated move, designed to remind those who saw it of that family connection, and in this case, Nathiel suspected, of a certain Ambassador in particular. It made him a little sick at heart to see it, because the expression on Ambryn's face wasn't a happy one as he shrugged into it. It was well-made, but its colorlessness was in sharp contrast to what he was accustomed to seeing his lover wearing.

Ambryn wasn't dressing to go out to a show; he was donning armor for a confrontation.

Nathiel couldn't hold it in any longer. He crossed the room, saw Ambryn look up to meet his gaze, and saw sadness in those jade eyes. He bent his head, pulling Ambryn to him, and kissed him, deep and long.

He let Ambryn up for air at last, felt the human lean against him, and, to his surprise, Ambryn chuckled.

"You know, I think that's the first good memory I've actually ever had while wearing this shirt," he said quietly.

Nathiel smiled as he held him. "I can do better."

"Mmm." Ambryn tilted his head back, got up on his tiptoes, and Nathiel obligingly leaned down to meet the brief kiss pressed against his lips. "Later."

"Or now," Nathiel replied complacently. "We've still got, what – twenty minutes?"

Ambryn giggled, and then sighed. "I shouldn't laugh."

"I like it when you do," Nathiel said gently, taking Ambryn's chin gently between his thumb and forefinger. He kissed him once more, then let him go and watched as Ambryn finished dressing.

The bed, he decided for tonight. They could do the rest of the furniture another time.

They cuddled on the couch as they waited for the knock on the door. Nathiel held Ambryn close in his arms, fearing, more than anything, the return of that dread chill. But while Ambryn's gaze remained slightly sad, for now at least, he was the warm, welcoming lover Nathiel had come to hold dear.

Ж

Ambryn clung to Nathiel, battening guiltily on his warmth, using it to fight off the chill threatening to settle in his belly. He knew it was his imagination, especially after having it dry-cleaned repeatedly and then languishing in his closet these past years, but somehow the shirt still seemed to smell faintly of incense and dying roses. The fabric was silky, smooth, light, the garment designed to be comfortable even while presenting a formal appearance.

He wanted to burn it.

He couldn't. It was a weapon, and in a small way he was horrified at his own foresight at holding onto it. He was horrified at what he was about to do. This could only end one way, and he knew it, but that didn't make it any easier. If anything, that knowledge made it all the harder, because he'd seen the way Hector looked at him.

He'd said Ambryn had his heart. Could he really rip it out then?

Ambryn squeezed his eyes shut, a single shiver running through him, and he felt Nathiel's embrace tighten around him, felt Nathiel's lips press lightly against his brow. Unable to stand it anymore, he lifted his head, met them with his own, and the knock that tolled through the air tore through the sweetness, a firm beckoning toward the painful future, delivered from a once-golden past.

Hector smiled as the door opened, his bright blue eyes brilliant with determination. He was dressed formally, a dark suit tailored to accentuate his muscular body, and he held out a hand. "Shall we go?"

Ambryn took a deep breath, his arms wrapped around himself, and nodded.

Ж

"Nath looks like he wants to kill something," Reiyad muttered.

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me," Annatta murmured back as she watched the _kal'dorei_ in question brush past Hector's extended hand, grab Ambryn by his hips, and lift him easily into the carriage before following him in.

Ambryn had looked worried. Annatta was only reassured by the fact that Reiyad had said himself that Nathiel would like her to come along. Apparently he thought the human suitor was trouble. In that at least, Annatta found herself in agreement with him. The rune-carved rod was a bit ostentatious, but thankfully in a city of mages no one would look askance at a powerful magical weapon since it was as much a symbol of status as a tool for mayhem. Still, her mother had looked at her sideways when she'd asked to borrow it.

Annatta turned to the driver and used it to point. "Follow that cab."

"Ain't heard _that_ one in a while," the carriage driver muttered after his passengers had gotten back inside. He flicked the reins, and the carriage rattled into motion across the cobbles.

Ж

The Lay of the Spirits was considered a classic in Dalaran. After the last war, it had been one of the first to return to the stage. The music was beautiful, the melodies enchanting beyond mere magic, and the Dalaran Symphony was one of only two in the world recognized officially as such, the other in Stormwind.

On any other occasion, Ambryn might have enjoyed it. He knew the plot well, its bittersweet, tragic appeal stirring something in him each time he saw it. He even knew some of the songs by heart.

Now, however, it only made him feel worse and wish for the night to be over already.

It wasn't an overly complicated tale, but like most epic classics, it ended badly.

If Hector had noted his choice of apparel, he chose not to comment on it, smile never flagging. "So are you fond of opera, elf?" he asked jovially while they were in line to get in.

"Not much experience with it," Nathiel replied with a shrug.

"This should be an enlightening opportunity for you then. I know for a fact that this is one of Ambryn's favorites." Hector reached over and placed his hand against the small of Ambryn's back. His handsome, chiseled face was warm, smile charming. "I remember the first time we went to see it together. Your father was absolutely livid when I finally got you back home."

Ambryn remembered all too well. He'd thought it a grand prank at the time, his arms wrapped around Hector's waist as he clung to him in the saddle, the horse galloping by moonlight, the hour well after midnight. He remembered his father waiting in the doorway, his furious glare skewering both of them.

Hector had reigned up, but hadn't dismounted. "I hope the evening finds you well, sir," he'd called cautiously.

"Ambryn, come inside," Tybalt had said quietly. "And boy, if my son had been hurt, I would have-"

"Tybalt, dear." Marianne's tone had been fond. "Hector looks quite chastened already, and it's not polite to threaten to burn down the neighbors' home and slaughter their livestock." She'd raised her deep emerald eyes. "But Hector dear, try to be a little more timely, and as parents, we appreciate it when we're asked permission. Otherwise the next time there may not be an opportunity to beg forgiveness."

Hector had bowed his head. "Then I take this opportunity to beg forgiveness, Lady Dellani, and I assure you the next time I will ask permission."

"Don't expect me to grant it," Tybalt had growled as Ambryn climbed down from the horse. "And Ambryn - you're grounded for a month."

"Yes, sir." Ambryn had hung his head, but it was his mother who followed him up the stairs.

"You know better," she'd said as he slipped into his pajamas. "There are still demons spotted in the far reaches of Alterac. If one of them had come in looking for an easy meal . . ."

"I'm very sorry." Ambryn had bitten his lower lip.

"We worry about you, just like your brothers and sister." She'd hugged him. "Your father and I love you very much."

Ambryn realized abruptly that Hector had said something. He blinked, stirred out of the memory. "Sorry?"

Hector's smile turned nostalgic. "You still get lost in your thoughts I see."

Ambryn stepped back from the hand that rose toward his face, feeling chilled. He could sense Nathiel's concerned look, but he didn't meet his gaze.

Ж

Annatta drew in a deep breath, and then another, trying to calm herself, because she'd been mere heartbeats away from raising the rod in her right hand that was doing double-duty as an ornate cane and blasting the pretentious knight into smoking pieces.

_I am Quel'dorei. I am a descendant of King__Dath'Remar Sunstrider. I will feed upon nothing but the sun. I will feed upon only purity. I will not be corrupted._ She repeated the words in her mind, seeking calm. It was one thing to see Nathiel touching Ambryn in such a manner, but that blond _pig-_

"Are . . . you okay?" Reiyad asked quietly, expression openly apprehensive.

Annatta drew in another deep breath. She realized the rod was shaking in her hand, her grip white-knuckled. "I'm delightful," she managed between clenched teeth.

If she aimed right, she could take out _both_ males with _one_ shot . . .

Annatta drew in another deep breath and strove for calm as they trailed behind a dignified goblin missus and her four pups, all dressed in little suits that they tugged at and made faces in. A Tauren paused politely to allow the two of them to enter the line first, dressed in a long, formal kilt and a black waistcoat with a white shirt and black bow-tie.

_I am Quel'dorei. I am a descendant of King__Dath'Remar Sunstrider . . ._

Ж

The seats were on the top level overlooking the stage, the third of three levels of seating, and they were a single row from the front. The view was exquisite. Ambryn tried not to think about the last time he'd been here.

His mother had been with them. Already frail, there had nevertheless been a brilliance that glowed from her emerald eyes, seemed to radiate from her wasted body. His father-

Ambryn closed his eyes, turning from the memory.

"I haven't been in years, but they say Ostas Quentis is supposed to be one of the finest baritones in a decade. Of course, you'd probably know better than me." Hector's tone was cheerful.

The words were on Ambryn's lips as if they'd been waiting. They were a knife blade with no hilt, and he knew Hector wouldn't be the only one they'd cut. It wasn't enough to make him hold them back. "I haven't been back since Mother died."

The words cut deep, as he'd expected, silence immediately clouding the air.

"I'm sorry." Hector's words were quiet.

Ambryn didn't turn to meet his gaze. He looked down at the stage instead.

A large, warm hand closed around the back of his neck, fingers gently massaging, and Ambryn looked up into Nathiel's tender gaze, feeling the chill abate somewhat.

"It's not your fault," he managed after a moment, glancing at Hector. He looked back at the stage and the orchestra pit below it. Musicians were starting to flow in, and the first slow sighs of violins being carefully tuned rose up, amplified by the natural acoustics of the theater. The bright sound of brass horns carried through them, the thrum of harps and the smooth sound of woodwinds threading their own notes into the morass of sound. Ambryn clasped his hands in his lap.

He went utterly still as the Dance of the Garden opened the performance, ballerinas dressed as nymphs and flowers floating gracefully across the stage. More and more elves had joined the ranks of the ballet in the last several years, naturally graceful and beautiful, swanning among their human counterparts, the ethereal choreography bringing a lump to his throat and stilling his breath.

They circled around the figure of Mother Earth, her voluminous skirts and sleeves of warm nutmeg brown and dark green with accents of deep red accentuating her movements as she turned in slow counterpoint to the dance around her, dark chestnut hair done up in an elaborate crown. It was her rich alto that carried the melody, the backdrop a shimmery descant of sopranos.

Male dancers joined them, dressed in kilts, vines, leaves, and furs, and in their midst came Gilgamesh, wearing his vest of bright gold, white tights likewise gilded along the outside, soft boots of doe leather coming to his knees, his tenor rising sonorously above the chorus line. As always, he was handsome. This particular singer was dark-haired, with brooding good looks.

He danced gracefully to center-stage, where Mother Earth's greeting was interrupted by a high skirl of trilling flutes and a flourish of violins, as Air literally descended from on high on the wings of wind magic. Her soprano was breathy rather than high and pure, a decided change in style from the last time he'd seen this performance, not that it mattered since her part in this scene had no words. Her sequined outfit clung to her lithe body like a second skin, making her glitter as though covered in crushed diamonds, the effect no doubt bolstered by more magic. She was a platinum blond, and it might have been the fact that Ambryn was several years older now, but her dance as she whirled and kicked around Gilgamesh and Mother Earth seemed more seductive and less wild and innocent than he recalled.

As quickly as she had arrived, brushing carelessly through the flowers of the Garden, she was gone again, ascending once more as she danced through the air and off-stage to the left.

Gilgamesh was, of course, instantly smitten, just as he always had been before and would be as long as the opera was repeated. With frequent longing glances over his shoulder that were just the slightest bit overdone in Ambryn's opinion, he begged Mother Earth for assistance.

"_If there be a path_, _then water surely knows, 'neath even barren deserts, the rivers they still flow; and through the vasty skies, the rain doth fall on all the world alike._" She replied in her aria, unsmiling, her expression troubled._ "If there be a way, then water, your way may show._"

A hasty thanks, three notes – no more, and Gilgamesh was on his way, unaware of what awaited him. The lights went down, and applause thundered over the sound of the symphony. When the stage was illuminated again, the scene had changed, obviously with the help of more magic for it to have changed so quickly and completely. Real water curled in elaborate sparkling ribbons over the stage, quick and vibrant, droplets hanging impossibly suspended by more magic, casting rainbows over the pools and streams below. At their center, utterly still in contrast just as Ambryn recalled, was the Spirit of Water, face concealed by a veil, robed in shades of blue.

With his opening solo aria, Ostas stole the performance outright, and for a moment, listening to his baritone, as perfectly and unshakably suspended between high and low as the prismatic water droplets that cast their rainbows through the air, he invoked that rarest of magics, and Ambryn forgot where he was, forgot who was next to him, and let himself be wrapped up in the story.

Gilgamesh appeared. Ambryn wasn't sure whether the tenor was intimidated and dreading following the impressive display, or just as spellbound as the rest of them, because he hesitated, and then caught the line, moving slowly forward over the little bridges. Three entreaties, and the Spirit replied with a powerful line of melody neatly dovetailed with Gilgamesh's trailing note.

"_Water is reflection, the truth within your soul, but that which you pursue, it cannot make you whole. A path in truth I know, to the daunting peaks so high, to the place that crowns the world, the mantle of the sky. To this place I can guide you, through Fire's brazen gates, but I ask you, mortal man, to pause, to contemplate. Will you not turn back?_" The last stanza was slow, long, an echo of Mother Earth's unease.

With a vehement denial, Gilgamesh refused, falling upon his knees, beating his breast, pleading his love.

"_If you've any mercy Spirit, this love I do avow, I beg you for your aid, do not turn me back now._" His passion and the music carried the line despite the slightly awkward flavor of the lyric.

"_For the sake of love. For the sake of love's regrets. For the sake of hope. For the hope that Fate relents. This gift then I do give, to see you safely tread, to turn away the future feared, and may the gods see this end in joy, and not in dread._"

Ambryn felt moisture come to his own eyes as he leaned forward in his seat, not for the line, though it was beautiful, but because of what it foreshadowed. For a moment as the lights went down, the theater was completely, utterly silent, and then the applause was even louder than before, trickling away almost reluctantly as the lights came up on a far different scene.

Black basalt pillars reflected dim, smoky red light, smoldering glows emanating from threatening shadows. Fire wended his way among those pillars, half-seen, a tenor that was a perfect match for Gilgamesh's soaring through the air, but where Gilgamesh was passionate, this voice carried a tone of malice. His hair was a bright, coppery red, his lean, muscular body wrapped in flowing trousers and a half shirt of brilliant orange accented with blood red and deep gold, more gold tracing sinuous lines over his bared shoulder, the right side of his back and chest, and over his arms.

He looked dangerous, hard, and powerful, yet in spite of it, Ambryn couldn't feel antipathy towards him. He wondered, for a brief moment, if Nathiel would be flattered by the suddenly apparent similarity, especially for the end of the opera.

Perhaps.

Perhaps not.

Gilgamesh appeared, but he didn't even get more than a few notes out before Fire cut him off as neatly as a knife, tone hard, dark, and a complete contrast despite the nearly identical pitch and timbre of their voices, tempo fast, almost relentless.

"_I know of what you come here seeking. I know of what you have been dreaming – an airy goddess wild and fair, bewitching song and shimm'ring hair. I warn you now that which you seek, can be obtained only in dreams."_

_"You cannot hold a heart of air, capricious and uncaring. You cannot ascend the heavens, with any feat of daring. Water may guide, but Fire sees, and I will scorch if you proceed. Turn you back, or join the dead, I yield not, this quest has reached its end."_ Flames shot up through the basalt pillars, lighting them from within as Fire closed on Gilgamesh.

Gilgamesh stepped back but then seemed to regain his composure. "_Your power is great, but __even you give way, to the strength of water's sway. Water's blessing do I bear, and such as you do well to 'ware, lest all your strength be quenched."_

_"Such strength has not your guide_," Fire returned scornfully. "_Every moment you delay, Water's power wanes away, fleeting indeed this power swift, a moment more and you'll have wasted the gift, that would have seen you safe beyond Fire's pow'r._" He held out a hand, flames dancing atop his fingers.

Even Ambryn's eyes widened as Fire charged, bursting into flames. Usually this part was a little . . . well . . . _tamer_.

Gilgamesh dodged nimbly enough, using the pillars for cover as the orchestra thundered, what was usually a robust accompaniment to what normally amounted to little more than a choreographed game of hide and seek among the pillars become a nail-biting roar emphasizing what genuinely resembled frantic flight as Gilgamesh dodged.

Of course, as always happened, he darted to the middle of the pillars, but instead of him looking around and Fire tackling him or knocking him down, the fires in the pillars of basalt flared, strands of flame forming a cage.

Fire held up his hand, and the cage began to close in.

Someone in the audience gasped.

Blue light flared in the midst of bright flickering orange, the threads of fire going out in wisps of steam.

"_Why do you interfere? You know what waits. There can be only one end._" Fire's song was hard.

Water, still cloaked beneath his veil, didn't move in the slightest, standing between Gilgamesh and Fire. "_Once, you were a spirit of hope, like I, and took no part in dread_." Water's voice was faintly sad, the slow melody and soft line the complete opposite of Fire's sharp tones, and Ambryn felt tears prick at his eyes all over again. "_Remember Cousin, how we dreamed, of beginnings with no end. You set the stars alight, and I calmed their raging heat. Now, you blaze with anger bright, in your despair is your defeat. Remember not just ashes, but that which could still be. Forsake your bitter ways. Dream. Believe._"

The flames that licked around Fire flickered out. "_Go then mortal, and know your doom is not my making. Thus what cannot help to follow, I shall take no part in. Gain the summit where Air dwells, and plight your worthless troth. I'll pursue you no longer, on this you have my oath_."

The lights went down to more thunderous applause and even raucous cheers. When they came back up for intermission, the stage was empty, no basalt pillars, just hardwood floors. Ambryn realized that he'd been sitting on the edge of his seat.

"Surprisingly exciting." Hector's voice was amused. "I thought Fire was going to rip Gilgamesh's head clean off his shoulders there at the beginning of the scene."

"Yes." Ambryn took a deep breath and sat back. He glanced at Nathiel. His big night elf lover had a contemplative look on his features, gaze still fixed on the stage.

"Ambryn. Can I talk to you alone? Just for a minute?"

Ambryn turned back around and found Hector's deep blue eyes on his, smile vanished, handsome features intent.

"Just for a minute," Hector repeated. "Please."

Amrbyn felt it, felt the inevitability of the moment as surely as he knew how the rest of the opera would play out. He knew how this would end, knew there was no avoiding it, and yet it didn't alleviate the dread that coiled in his chest and made it harder to breathe. He closed his eyes for a heartbeat, gathering himself, and nodded. "Yes."

Hector's smile was warm, like the sun breaking brilliant and golden through late afternoon clouds and he took Ambryn's hand, pulling him to his feet.

Ambryn glanced back as the reached the aisle, but Nathiel was studying the program. He obviously intended to give them the privacy Hector had asked for and Ambryn had agreed to.

Ambryn wondered what it had cost him to do that. He fully intended to more than make it up to him later, to give him reason to never _ever_ question that what was about to happen outside of his earshot was to ensure that the two of them would stay together, untroubled. The thought strengthened his resolve. It was time to put this to rest. His hand tightened slightly on Hector's, and the blond knight turned and flashed him that smile once more.

He let Hector lead him up the stairs, and then another flight, followed him silently as they climbed higher.

A small stairwell gave out onto a flat part of the roof, and Hector turned and shut the door. The moon rode high in the achingly clear sky, stars twinkling in the heavens like gems beyond counting, more jewels than all the world could hold, not a single wisp of cloud to obscure them.

"Tell me there's a chance." Hector's voice was calm, warm, his eyes gentle and a little sad. "Tell me there's something I can do to win your heart."

For a long moment, Ambryn looked at him, studied the handsome features, the man who had developed from the youth he'd once known, even fancied that he'd loved at one time. He looked deep into his own heart, searched for even the slightest remaining uncertainty, for any part of him that yearned yet to be with Hector. All he found was a pair of loving silver eyes, looking back at him.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

Hector nodded after a moment, smile turning rueful. "Me too."

Ambryn looked at him for a moment, confused but wary, and started to turn toward the door as the sound of wingbeats drew close. A strong hand gripped his wrist and he jerked fruitlessly, turning a gaze on Hector that was pure ice. A gryphon set down on the broad stone tiles that covered the roof, the cloaked figure on its back dismounting and tossing the reins to Hector.

"Hector – _don't_." Ambryn tried to pull free once more.

"I can't break the hold he's got over you – not when he's this close. I can't give up either. You'll see. There's still a part of you that loves me, Ambryn Dellani." Hector pulled Ambryn close and wrapped an arm around his waist, lifting him. His blue eyes burned with cobalt fire, expression unyielding. "It's time for me to do what I should have done years ago."

"Hector, no!" Ambryn struggled. "I don't want this. Not like this!"

Hector ignored him, shoving him up into the saddle and climbing up behind him, keeping him still as the gryphon shifted underneath them, letting out an uneasy sound. Ambryn's eyes went to the cloaked figure that was heading for the door, and they widened. "Don't you dare! Hector, I will _never_ forgive you for this! Not _ever_!"

The gryphon sprang skyward, wings beating as it climbed, filling the air with thunder.

Ж

Annatta heard the sound of muffled shouting. Enough was enough. She leveled the wand, but Reiyad was there first, kicking the door open with the sound of splintering wood. The man on the other side brought up a crossbow from underneath his cloak, eyes widening.

Annatta was acting almost before she thought about it and Reiyad let out a startled _whunf_ as she shoved him up against the wall, the bolt hissing past her left ear as she leveled the rod in her other hand. The attacker let out a grunt as brilliant golden fire cratered his chest and sent him flying backward, soaring off the edge of the roof, a smoking bundle of burned meat and smoldering fabric.

Reiyad lifted his eyes, and then cursed and tore back down the stairs.

Annatta didn't waste more than a glance herself at the snowy hindquarters of the gryphon as it spiraled higher, gaining altitude. She didn't even think about the rod. There was no way she could risk Ambryn.

Nathiel prowled the mezzanine, waiting. He'd intended to give them a few moments' headstart on him, no more, but Hector had somehow eluded him in the crowd, perhaps by magic, perhaps by cunning. He felt uneasy, on edge. Something was happening. He knew it. But he didn't know where they'd gone, up to another floor, or down to the street. He turned toward the tall windows, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of a white gryphon banking towards the south.

"Nath! _Nath!_"

Reiyad's voice was a shout, full of urgency, and Nathiel whirled.

"He's taken Ambryn! On a gryphon!" Reiyad was shoving his way ungently through the press of people, most of whom were scattering out of his way. Nathiel glanced down as a hand closed hard on his forearm, had time to look down into Annatta's blazing blue eyes, and then the world was swallowed by light.

It lasted a heartbeat, no more, and he was standing on cobbles that gleamed under the eldritch light of the portal that transported travelers to the outpost beneath the Dalaran.

"The stables!" Annatta hissed, her hair coming loose from its elaborate coiffure, gathering up her skirts as she ran full out toward the long, low two-story building in question, dignity abandoned, a walking stick or a cane of some sort in one hand.

She swore as she threw open the door and raced toward the horses.

Nathiel went up, to the loft space.

Muharine raised his head from his talons as the door to his nesting room opened, the hippogryph studying him with wise, inhuman eyes.

"Please," Nathiel rasped. "I need your help."

Ж

Pursuit didn't take long. Perhaps five minutes. Ambryn could tell by Hector's sudden agitation, the way he leaned forward, Ambryn pressed tight to his chest, urging more speed from the gryphon. He wriggled, managed to get an arm free, and braced himself against Hector's shoulder, looking over his back.

Something big and dark was in pursuit, broad wings spread. Ambryn didn't feel even a flicker of fear. He knew in an instant that Nathiel was coming for him. Relief surged.

"You'll want to keep running," he said almost absently for Hector's benefit. "Don't stop."

"Maybe it was a spell after all." Hector's voice was tight, but there was a note of joviality in it. "I wasn't expecting you to change your tune so quickly."

The cold that had been building in Ambryn seemed to settle, no longer deepening. "Tybalt gave you Mother's book. He's the only one who had it."

"There're thousands of copies of that book, Ambryn." Hector's tone was uneasy.

Ambryn's faint smile didn't have even a hint of genuine humor in it. "But only one with the inscription from their first wedding anniversary. The sad part was, I couldn't bring myself to feel betrayed over it."

"Ambryn-"

"This is the end, Hector. I'm sorry that you chose this. It wasn't how I wanted it."

Hector's head turned, blue eyes blazing bright, mouth opening. His expression turned to shock as Ambryn shoved against his chest with all his strength, surprise keeping him from reacting quickly enough to tighten his grip in that instant, and then Ambryn was falling.

The gryphon rolled over with a shriek as Hector yanked at the reins, plummeting earthward in pursuit, toward the branches far below that caught the moon in a million gleaming reflections, crystalline and deadly.

The wind whipping at his robes, Ambryn fixed Hector's face in his mind, determination in every line of the blond knight's expression. He closed his eyes.

"_Ambryn! No!"_

The gryphon dove right through sparkling silver light.

Ж

Ambryn watched as Hector sawed on the reins, pulling his mount out of its dive, scudding bare feet above the branches away into the south. He drifted slowly earthward, enveloped in a cloud of silken magic.

A large, warm hand, surprisingly gentle, plucked him out of the air, and he found himself pulled across a familiar lap. He shivered, and Nathiel held him close, tapping on the side of the hippogryph's neck. The creature came about with slow grace, antlers a dark tracery against the moon.

Ambryn looked up into Nathiel's face, and gentle silver eyes met his gaze. He smiled sadly. "I wanted us to part as friends."

Nathiel was silent for a long moment. "The . . . opera. What happens next?" he asked at last.

"It ends about as you'd expect. Gilgamesh reaches the mantle of the sky, where he finds Air. She spurns him, and wants nothing to do with him. So, angry, Gilgamesh goes back, passing through the realm of Fire again, returning to the place where he met Water. He kills him."

Nathiel's grip tightened. He couldn't help it. He wrapped Ambryn in his arms and just held him, unspeaking, gripping Muharine's ribs with this thighs.

"Fire comes, having known what was going to happen. He brings Water's body to Mother Earth, who curses Gilgamesh. Then she takes Water's veil, and uses it to conjure a reflection of Gilgamesh, to create a creature like him. She names her Oleander. Gilgamesh meets her, falls immediately in love, and-"

"Her touch is death to him." Nathiel's deep voice was quiet. Long moments passed, broken only by the sound of wingbeats.

Ambryn sighed and nestled his head against Nathiel's broad, warm chest, closing his eyes and listening to the comforting beat of his lover's heart.

Ж

* * *

**Author's Postscript Notes:**

**As always, I leave you with a request for constructive criticism. If you see typos, grammar errors, awkward lines, or something just plain sucks or doesn't fit, please let me know that in the reviews! Help me be a better writer, and I'll give you better stuff to read! Comments and questions are always welcome too!**

**Once again, thanks goes to those folks who have taken the time to write reviews and let me know where I've screwed up, or where something just doesn't work, or just to tell me how much they like it and why. Thanks especially to those who've helped me look at these characters in a different way and understand them better.**


	15. Act I Scene XIV: In the Light of Day

**Author's Notes:**

**I know at least one of you thought that last chapter ended too abruptly. Well, sorry about that but it was already half again the usual chapter length, and there's a TON more in this one. Some of this may feel a little obligatory, but there's a lot of stuff that needs to happen here to keep the ball rolling, so I'm trying to balance length with content and hopefully not drag this out to the point where people are like "Get A Move On Already Fish!"**

* * *

Ж

Act I Scene XIV

In The Light Of Day

The street in front of the small boarding house was empty, flooded with moonlight as Muharine set gracefully down on the pavement. Nathiel dismounted and pulled Ambryn down into his arms, but didn't set him down. Intellectually he knew they wouldn't have been parted for long, that Ambryn would have found a way back to him even if he hadn't managed to catch up, that Ambryn was never in any real physical danger. Convincing his heart of that, however, was a much more monumental task.

Nathiel turned. "Thank you Muharine. I owe you."

The hippogryph inclined his noble head ever so slightly. "You're welcome, and I know. I'll consider it an adequate start if you come by this week with a beef haunch. Prime bull stock." He snorted. "And it'd be nice if you dropped in when it _wasn't_ an emergency."

Nathiel winced slightly. "Right. Prime beef."

The hippogryph took once more to the skies, spiraling upward to gain altitude and then banking toward the southern end of the city and the stables.

"Can I go with you when you go to see him?" Ambryn's gaze was still on the place where the hippogryph had vanished from sight.

"I know for a fact he'd like that," Nathiel said after a moment, looking down into those jade eyes, somehow even more lovely under the moonlight.

"I'm sorry about-"

"Don't." Nathiel realized his tone had hardened and took a deep breath. "It's not your fault. You were doing what you had to. You tried to talk him down." He couldn't hold the rest back.

"But he betrayed your trust," Nathiel continued. Ambryn could feel Nathiel's arms tighten. "He tried to take you away from me. That's something I can't forgive." The beloved silver eyes blazed. Nathiel's darkly handsome features were taut, hard, and unrelenting. "I know he means something to you, but I can't let that go."

It was hard to hear. It was even harder to nod. It hadn't been what he wanted – nothing had been. He'd hoped, if nothing else, that Hector would understand, would let go. Ambryn had asked a lot of Nathiel already. He hesitated to ask for more. He prayed Hector would see sense, would keep running and never come back. With time perhaps, he would find someone else.

Ambryn turned his gaze toward the building in front of them, not so large as his own apartment building though still generously sized, a sturdy structure of brick. A change of subject was in order. "Is this where you live?"

"Yeah. My landlady is a little bit of a sourpuss, but she puts up with me." Nathiel smiled down at him, forcing some jocularity into his tone. He started walking toward the front door. "I'm afraid it might be a little bit of a mess, I uh . . . wasn't expecting to entertain here tonight."

Ambryn carefully avoided mentioning the still-fresh reason for that. "Ah, so it's my chance to see your den of debauchery." He lifted his eyebrows and gave Nathiel a leer that needed a lot more practice to look anything close to genuine.

Nathiel didn't have to think hard about not telling Ambryn that up until they'd met, that'd frequently been _exactly_ what the two-room living space he occupied had served as. He just chuckled instead, making an effort to pump more life into the casual atmosphere they were trying to both maintain.

His landlady stood from the chair in the entry hall she'd been sitting in, and Nathiel tensed slightly as he caught sight of the two robed figures in the official deep purple of the Kirin Tor. He looked for insignia, but there was nothing embroidered on their chests.

"Mr. Highfury. Mr. Dellani. Ambassador Dellani has asked for both of you," the one on the stairs said politely. "Please come with us."

Nathiel opened his mouth, but silver light was already whirling around them. The last thing he saw was his landlady's worried expression underneath her graying hair.

A little to Ambryn's surprise, it wasn't the office tower in the Administrative Quarter. They were facing his apartment building. Another pair of Kirin Tor were standing at the doors, the doorman absent. Their escort preceded them, clearly assuming that Nathiel and Ambryn would comply, or at least giving that appearance.

It was disturbing in a way, to realize that he was trying to decide if he could take one of them if it came down to a fight, and a little frightening to consider that he might not be able to get Nathiel out of harm's way.

"Don't worry," Nathiel said quietly.

"I'm not." Ambryn took a deep breath. _Not for myself._

"You're a terrible liar." Nathiel smirked very faintly, but his eyes remained on the Kirin Tor mages that preceded them. He didn't set Ambryn down, but continued to cradle the human mage protectively in his arms as they entered the empty lobby.

"If you need to put me-"

"No." The word wasn't sharp, just firm, but it brooked no argument.

One of their escort glanced back at them, but said nothing.

Nathiel wasn't thinking about fighting the Kirin Tor. Not two of them. Not with Ambryn with him. But if he could get enough distance on them he could go to ground if it became necessary.

They reached the lift, and the mages waited for Nathiel and Ambryn to go first. One of them threw the brass lever.

Ambryn was beginning to feel it, the first threads of chill burrowing once more into his flesh from somewhere within, and he shut his eyes, because he didn't want to feel it, didn't want to feel that terrible cold spread through him once more.

He shivered, and Nathiel's grip tightened. Ambryn wrapped his arms around Nathiel's neck and held onto him, tried to fight the growing chill inside with Nathiel's warmth.

And yet, another part of him _knew_ that Tybalt was up there, _knew_ that he was interfering _again,_ that he was a threat in earnest to the flame of life that Ambryn wanted to curl up to, wake up next to every day of his life. The knowledge was like ice growing in his mind, frigid and bringing with it a terrible clarity, harsh and angular.

By the time they reached his floor, it had spread beyond his power to stop it. He could feel it in his flesh, in his soul.

Nathiel paused as he stepped out of the lift. "Are you alright?"

Both Kirin Tor stopped and glanced back at that, their expressions unreadable.

Ambryn kept his eyes closed. "Please set me down."

"Ambryn-"

"Please." Ambryn didn't want to look into Nathiel's eyes, didn't want him to see the horrible frost that had rooted itself within his core. He hardly recognized his own voice.

After a long moment, the arms around him loosened, and he was set on his feet.

Ambryn opened his eyes, and one of the Kirin Tor started to step back before he caught himself. He cleared his throat. "Please - this way, Mr. Dellani."

Ambryn stepped toward them, past them, their wary gazes following, and suddenly they were an escort rather than guards. He didn't look back at Nathiel. He didn't dare. He was afraid he would shatter. The metal handle of his door felt warm to his hand. That it was unlocked without his doing or consent only added to the blizzard that was rising inside.

Tybalt looked up as the door opened, and his eyes widened slightly.

"Son-"

"We had a _bargain._" Ambryn's words were the sounds of boughs cracking beneath far too much ice. "I warned you, Ambassador, that further interference was intolerable."

"Wait. Please." Eanté's words were quick and a little uncertain.

Ambryn's gaze turned to her, and she _did_ step back, her arms wrapping around herself, face going white..

"I would have abided by it. Believe me, I had every intention of doing so, until a night elven huntress came looking for you." Tybalt Dellani's face was set. His dark eyes rose over Ambryn's shoulder, and they darkened, hardening. "I had every intention of trusting you, mercenary, until she brought me _this!_"

He pulled out something small that gleamed in the light, dangling from a copper chain clenched in his fist, and threw it.

Ambryn turned, following it as it sailed past him, caught by a large, rich purple hand, and as it swung from Nathiel's fist, Ambryn caught a glimpse of his own face, eyes turned to wells of darkness, hair radiating out like the fiery corona of the sun, expression utterly cold, and it took his breath away, shaking him so hard that the ice shattered.

"No," he whispered.

Nathiel blinked as he caught the cameo. On one side, someone had painted Ambryn's beautiful face with painstaking realism, capturing his brilliant emerald eyes, pale features, and honey-spun hair in a breathtaking portrait of enamel. Nathiel's brow furrowed, and then he heard the single, small denial on Ambryn's lips, felt the emotion behind it.

Ambryn was staring at the other side of the cameo as though facing down an adder, soft, sweet face bloodless, eyes wide and pale.

Nathiel looped it around his fist, and caught a glimpse of the other side.

It took him a moment to recognize the face, because it was so utterly unlike Ambryn, so unbelievably alien to see such a harsh expression on his lover's face. The features were there, the same curve of his lips, the line of his brow and his jaw.

The eyes were wells of endless darkness.

For a moment Nathiel was stunned, and then he was furious, an instinctive anger that boiled up from deep within him like dragon's breath, scouring everything in its path. He realized dimly that the chain was biting into his flesh, that his fist was shaking, because it was so intrinsically _wrong_ in a way that twisted in his gut.

"_What is this_?" His words came out in a chest-deep roar, and he had to stop himself, because he'd started moving toward the Ambassador without even thinking about it, one of the Kirin Tor guards moving to intercept him.

Tybalt was suddenly wearing a thoughtful expression, laying a light hand on his guardsman's shoulder and stepping past him. "You . . . honestly don't know." His eyebrows rose slightly. "Three of your people landed in Valiance Keep. The Governor's office was distributing sketches, reproduced from what you're holding in your hand. Their leader had it in her possession. I . . . questioned her quite thoroughly."

"Did she have a good explanation?" Nathiel's temper subsided slightly. He was still angry, but he was thinking it through. If there was something going on in Ashenvale that involved Ambryn . . . It would be all too easy to get a teleportation to bring him close to Darnassus, and in the space of a day, maybe less, he'd have plenty of answers, and if the situation called for it, plenty of blood.

It wouldn't be the first time he'd killed another _kal'dorei_.

"She claims that it was made from the visions of three priestesses of Selune." Tybalt glanced to one side. "Son, are you all right?"

Ambryn hadn't moved, and with an inward curse, Nathiel tossed the enameled portrait to the woman in the business dress who was standing off to one side and pulled Ambryn into his arms, anger boiling up all over again as his lover continued to shiver.

"Don't be afraid. I won't let them hurt you." Nathiel glanced at Tybalt, and then added as an afterthought. "Neither will your father."

Ambryn was stiff in his arms. His voice was quiet.

"It's not them I'm afraid of." He looked up, and his jade eyes were wounded so deeply Nathiel the pain in his own heart. "It's me."

Nathiel cupped Ambryn's face in his hands, unable to believe what he'd just heard. "Listen to me, Ambryn. _Look_ at me." He studied the face that grew more precious to him with every passing day. "You're good. You are nothing but _good_. Every day, every _single_ day I admire you for that. I _look_ to _you_ for that. Do you hear me? I _know_ that whatever you're afraid of, there's no reason for it. There's no reason for you to fear yourself or what you'll do, because I know, body and soul, that you'll do what's right, and what's good." He forced a smile, because he could feel tears wanting to burn at the corners of his own eyes. "Don't ever doubt that, because I don't."

There was a heart-stopping moment, and then Ambryn smiled tremulously back at him, and the jade eyes were crying, but those tears seemed to wash away some of that awful, soul-aching pain. Nathiel kissed him, gently but thoroughly, and through the salt, there was that same, divinely sweet taste that was _home,_ that was _peace_, that was _Ambryn._

Nathiel held him close, ignoring the fact that they had an audience, all his attention on the bright, beautiful, beloved being in his arms, the pillar that made his world whole. Then, slowly, he let go, stepped back, and turned back to Tybalt, meeting his brown eyed-gaze.

"Sir, I'm asking for your help." Nathiel took a deep breath. "I need to stop this. I need to get to Darnassus, and . . . I . . . I need to know that Ambryn will be safe."

Tybalt studied him for a long, long moment and finally nodded. "Come to my office tomorrow."

"Nathiel, wait." Ambryn was slowly shaking his head, and Nathiel saw the realization waking in his eyes, awareness of the bloodshed that was all that could follow now. "You don't have to-"

"I'll do anything to keep you," Nathiel said simply. "I'll do whatever I have to, whatever it takes."

Ambryn swallowed at the look in his gaze, and then closed his eyes and lowered his head.

Ж

Shaenae paced across the thick, lush lavender carpet that covered much of the parqueted floor. There was a decanter on the oak sideboard, and crystal glasses. She'd sated her hunger on the fruit and cold meats that had been left for her, with generous amounts of both still left. The couch was plush, thickly upholstered, the chairs generously sized even for her inhuman stature. There was even an accommodation in a small room at the back.

It was a very polite, very spacious, very well-furnished cell, but it was a cell nonetheless. The door remained locked, and had been so for hours. She'd had no contact with Iralia or Lofgryn.

The Ambassador's son.

There was no possible way she could have predicted it. Shaenae was certain the priestesses hadn't known either. What had been a bad situation already had become even more perilous.

With any luck one of her subordinates had managed to make contact with the _kal'dorei_ consulate.

Shaenae hadn't expected finding the object of the vision to be so simple.

She hadn't expected the situation and circumstances to be so complex.

She'd told Ambassador Dellani everything, had held nothing back, both because she hoped that he would hold to as much of whatever minimal reason was possible under the circumstances, and because he seemed perfectly willing to follow through on his eloquently-worded threat.

Reason was a slim hope indeed, when it came to a parent and offspring.

Twenty-four steps to the door. Twenty-four steps to the windowless wall.

Shaenae paced, and she worried, and she wondered, and she prayed.

The door opened and she whirled, prepared to sell her life dearly.

The woman from the Ambassador's office, Eanté, smiled coolly and professionally as she opened the door. "Please forgive the delay. The Ambassador has arranged accommodations for you near the Night Elf consulate." She folded her hands. "The guard has been provided with your description in order to ensure that nothing untoward occurs during your stay. It is Ambassador's wish that you find a warm welcome in Dalaran, and please feel free to call upon his office if you should find yourself in want for any amenities."

Shaenae hesitated, and then stepped forward. "Wait. What about the-"

"At no time should you be found anywhere in the remote vicinity of Ambryn Dellani." The human's expression remained polite, the tone civil, but there was no mistaking the words. "As it happens, the Ambassador is currently making preparations for a diplomatic visit to Darnassus. He would be pleased if you would accompany him."

Shaenae simply nodded. "I understand." She did. Here within this city, it might as well be impossible for her to complete her mission and return with the human. Still, she was being given leave to contact the Consulate. She would send word, and await a response.

Ж

The sun was rising. Nathiel could see the first hints of dawn touching the sky, lightening the horizon. He held Ambryn close in his arms, and breathed in the scent of his hair, touched with the faintest hint of cool, clean mint.

He didn't think lightly of what he was about to do. It would be difficult, almost certainly dangerous. He wasn't anything close to a trained assassin. Still, this needed to be done.

Ambryn stirred against him, lifting his head, and Nathiel found his lips, kissed them lightly, and tightened his grip.

"You don't have to do this," Ambryn said softly.

"I told you, you're a terrible liar." Nathiel kissed him again, felt Ambryn yield to him. Desire flared hot even as his resolve strengthened. "You know I do. The sooner the better."

"No." Ambryn shook his head, buried his face in Nathiel's chest. "We can stay here. We'll be safe here."

"Ambryn." Nathiel's tone was slightly sad. "Do you really believe my people will simply give up? If it was important enough for them to send one group of hunters so far, it's important enough for them to send more. You heard your father last night."

"So you'll kill them."

Nathiel took a deep breath. "If I have to, yes. It might not come to that."

"You think it will."

"But I hope it won't." Nathiel threaded his fingers through Ambryn's curls, studied the way they began to gleam under the growing light. "What if they don't even come for you personally? What if they petition the Senate? Prophecy has a lot of weight these days after Medivh. If I wait, it will happen, one way or the other."

Ambryn lifted his head, jade eyes shadowed, and kissed him. Nathiel could taste the desperation in it. He rolled over, supporting himself above Ambryn with his elbows, and claimed his mouth, the kiss long and deep, holding nothing back, trying to memorize this moment, this sensation, this place in time, because he wasn't sure when he would be able to come back to it.

Then, gently, he disentangled himself.

He dressed in the living room, waiting for the sound of sobs.

"Nathiel."

Nathiel turned. Ambryn stood in the doorway to the bedroom, honey curls tousled, jade eyes sad, but he smiled faintly, the effort obviously costing him. It was thin, but it was there. "Let me make you breakfast first."

Ж

The sun was visible on the horizon by the time Nathiel had girded himself at his apartment and headed for the Administrative Quarter. It didn't take him long to find Ambassador Dellani's office. The woman from last night was there behind a slim desk, in an identical business suit, everything about her organized and neatly pressed, her hair pulled back in a tight, crisp ponytail.

She stood and gave him a professional smile, giving him a brief handshake and then crossing to the double doors. "I'm Eanté, personal administrative assistant to Ambassador Dellani. Please, come in – he's been expecting you."

Tybalt stood at the far end of the office, looking down at his desk, expression pensive. He glanced up after a moment, and his brow furrowed ever so slightly, clearing an instant later. "Master Highfury." He smiled slightly, and held out his hand. "May I call you Nathiel?"

Nathiel blinked. The politeness felt a little awkward, and he was keyed up to go. Still, he gave the Ambassador's hand a brief, firm shake. "You can, sir. I'm ready to go."

"Ah, yes – about that." Tybalt's eyebrows rose slightly. "Nathiel, with the understanding that you already hold my son's best interests at heart, I'd actually like to retain your services in official capacity as a bodyguard until the upcoming diplomatic mission is ready to depart, and then continue in that capacity until Ambryn is safely returned to Dalaran where he belongs. I expect we'll be leaving for Valgarde Keep within a week."

"_What?" _The word was out of Nathiel's mouth before he'd thought better of it. "Sir, you _can't_ take Ambryn there! Not now!"

Tybalt's small smile vanished, brown eyes regarding Nathiel with a certain piercing calculation. "While I admire your fervor, I believe you are failing to take Ambryn himself into account. Perhaps you don't know my son as well as you think. While his motives are generally noble, his actions can occasionally be . . . rash." He let out a sudden sigh, abruptly looking much more human. "That's part of the reason I need you to stay – he won't listen to me, but hopefully he'll listen to you. I need you to keep him from going himself." He held up a finger. "Believe me, I've taken into consideration the probable danger of taking him to Darnassus. But I'd much rather take him along with ten veteran mages, twenty guards, and the three mercenary companies, including Vir Aegeae, that I've engaged, than have him traipse out there on his own. I like the odds of his survival much better that way. It will also make it a great deal easier to . . . shall we say, resolve the issue if need should arise. I firmly believe in strongly hedging all of my bets."

Tybalt's words made an awful sort of sense. Ambryn leaving on his own . . . Nathiel realized he _should_ have expected that. His own words about knowing Ambryn would do the right thing came back to haunt him. That sad smile this morning suddenly took on a whole new meaning.

Nathiel nodded. "Thank you sir. I've got to go back."

"Do hurry," Tybalt said simply.

Nathiel's world dissolved into silver light, and when it returned, he was back in front of Ambryn's apartment building. He took the stairs to the door two at a time, not even glancing at the purple-robed Kirin Tor who hadn't been there before today, and ran for the lift, startled mages scattering out of his way.

Ж

Annatta knocked and then let herself in, the makings of cinnamon rolls in the paper bag cradled in her arm. Ambryn sat fully dressed on the couch, alone, no trace of a smile anywhere to be found. He lifted his gaze, eyes widening. He looked like he'd been crying.

"Annatta."

Annatta made yet another mental note to kill or at least mortally injure Hector the next time (and ideally the last time) that she saw him. Still, she was puzzled by the fact that Nathiel wasn't present. She smiled warmly, hoping she looked reassuring. "Hi. I know you had a rough night last night." She'd been slightly irritated that Nathiel had taken the hippogryph and left her behind, but it made good sense, and she'd forgiven him since he'd brought Ambryn back safe. "I thought perhaps cinnamon rolls?"

Ambryn's expression didn't light up, the darkness in his gaze not easing even a little. He shook his head. "Oh Annatta, I'm in an awful lot of trouble."

Annatta blinked, mind literally boggled for a moment by the impossible notion that Ambryn himself had actually beaten her to the punch where Hector was concerned and delivered him to his demise.

No, it wasn't possible . . . was it?

She set the paper sack full of baking goods on the table and crossed to the couch, putting her arm around Ambryn's shoulders. "Want to talk about it?"

He told her, in a choked, miserable tone, about everything that had happened. By the end of it, her own heart was thundering, a thousand curses in her thoughts that she couldn't give voice to, anger and fear and guilt and loathing tangling into a horrible, confused knot with a single thought at its center.

She could use this to get what she wanted. All she had to do was turn him over to the night elves. If they wanted him that badly . . .

The thought alone made her sick to the pit of her soul, so vile that it burned from her empty stomach all the way up to her mouth until she wanted to heave bile inelegantly into her lap.

She could.

She wouldn't.

Using his affections for Nathiel had been one thing, but just the idea of turning him over to ancient elder elves afraid of some vision of doom was beyond anathema and set everything in her to screaming in denial.

"No."

She didn't realize she'd spoken it out loud, didn't realize that her face reflected her own horror and shock and outrage until she saw Ambryn staring at her, looking so lost and disheartened and . . . guilty.

How could he even _feel_ it? How could the one, single, innocent person in this whole, tangled, confused mess feel a shame the rest of them ought to be drowning in?

Annatta squeezed her eyes shut.

"Annatta? I – I'm sorry! I didn't mean to drop this on you – I . . ."

"I have to go." Annatta almost choked on her self-loathing. "I'm sorry, Ambryn, but I - I have to go."

She opened her eyes to see Ambryn looking as though she'd stabbed him in the heart, and the worst part was that guilt, continuing to grow in his jade gaze, like a dagger in her belly. She tore herself away from him and ran for the door, tears burning at her own eyes, threw it open, and almost ran into Nathiel, wearing full armor and armed to the teeth. He was breathing hard, as though he'd been running.

Annatta looked into his panicked silver eyes, and had an awful, awful realization.

Ambryn was thinking of . . .

"Don't let him go," she snapped, not caring how harsh her tone was, not caring that Ambryn could hear her. "Keep him here, and keep him safe."

Nathiel was past her without a word, pulling Ambryn into his arms, lifting him from his feet, big body shaking.

Annatta watched them for a moment, and then shut the door, suddenly feeling numb.

Nathiel _was_ the one who deserved Ambryn, she thought with a faint sense of disbelief. It had all been there in his eyes. She'd seen it herself, that desperate, fiery glance, fierce and unrelenting. She made it a few more steps down the hall, half-fell sideways into a wall, and sank down it, crying her eyes out.

"I'm sorry," she whispered brokenly. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." She sobbed, shoulders shaking, until she was almost sick, and managed to stagger at last to her feet, eyes blurry with tears, guilt shredding her heart.

Ж

The incandescent disk of the sun was just barely above the horizon, but Hillstop's Endless Tankard never closed. Hector sat at a table, nursing a mug of cold, bitter beer that matched what was left of his love life, and watched it rise. He was only half-drunk. He was waiting for guards to show up, or even Kirin Tor. He wouldn't disgrace himself by being completely smashed. He wanted to face Ambryn with some dignity at least when the sentence was handed down.

"Sir Hector."

Hector turned his head, and met Tybalt's brown eyes. The bastard was immaculately attired as ever, in the same steel-gray robes with all their fancy rune-embroidery.

Hector snorted. "What - no minions to bring me in? Come to do me yourself?" He spread his arms. "Kill me."

Tybalt let out a small sigh. "Far from it. Why do you think there hasn't been any pursuit even after the body of a known assassin was found, armed with no less than six different kinds of poisons, with a significant amount of coin in his pocket? May I sit?"

Hector blinked, brow furrowing. This confrontation wasn't going at all the way he'd assumed. "I guess." He watched as Tybalt seated himself, and leaned forward, taking a swig of his beer. "If you're not here to kill me or drag me in front of a judge, what _are_ you here for, Tybalt?"

"Believe me, both options crossed my mind, and I've seriously considered the merits of each." Tybalt's tone remained casual despite his words. "But I may yet have a use for you."

Hector snorted. "You can't make it worth my time."

"Oh?" Tybalt folded his hands in front of him. "I was under the impression that you were in love with Ambryn. Perhaps it was merely a fool's shallow infatuation."

Hector was on his feet in a heartbeat, knocking his chair back. "Don't go there old man! I'll kill you! I love him more than _anyone_!" He snorted softly. "I still do."

Tybalt gave him a long, considering look, and gestured with one hand. "Sit down. We need to talk."

Hector considered throwing a punch. Sure, he might get arrested, probably get some serious prison time, but he was getting well and truly sick of Tybalt's games.

But Ambryn . . .

He realized he was swaying slightly on his feet. He turned, found his chair after a moment, and picked it up, ignoring the sour look the barkeep was giving him.

"First – why did you do it? What could you possibly have hoped to accomplish?" Tybalt's eyebrows were slightly raised.

Hector felt his hackles rise, fighting for calm, because along with the anger came more despair than he wanted to face. "I knew – I already knew I'd lost him." Hector looked down at his mug. "I was desperate. I thought "if I could just get him away from the night elf for just ten minutes" then maybe, somehow, I could reawaken the spark in his eyes. I wanted . . . I wanted so badly to see him smile for me. Just me. I wanted him back, and I was willing to do anything, literally _anything_ to have him."

Tybalt was silent for a long moment. Then all at once, he let out a sigh. "Ambryn is very much his mother's son. That resemblance has been reinforced by recent events." The Ambassador gestured for service. "So let me tell you about Marianne." He glanced at the waitress as she approached. "A sweet red, please."

"I remember her." Hector did, and fondly. She'd always welcomed him, as warm and kind as his own mother, blunting the worst of Tybalt's wrath when he fell afoul of it.

"Later in life, yes." Tybalt steepled his fingers, gaze turning distant. "She loved being a mother. I never saw her so happy as the first time she was pregnant. She was probably twice as excited as I was."

The glass of red was poured, and Tybalt spoke, his words measured, eyes lost somewhere in the past.

"When I first met Marianne, they called her War Goddess. Ice Queen. Lady Victory. In those days we fought in the very ruins of Dalaran itself, in the rubble of our homes, battled demons of staggering power that could kill with a word or a look. Marianne Altirana was a living, flesh and blood legend among us."

"She was known for three things in descending order, her ability to win, her beauty, and her utter coolness even toward other mages. She was like an ice storm come to life – fierce, vengeful, unstoppable, and utterly cold. War hardened her, made her harsh, made her something . . . elemental." Tybalt paused. "I still remember the day she saved my life. There were three doom lords, and the two other mages I was with were dead in mere heartbeats, one by demon fire, the other torn to shreds. I was covered in his blood, out of strength, and certain I was about to follow."

"She saved you." Hector leaned forward, beer forgotten, enthralled despite himself.

"Yes." Tybalt nodded. "One moment I was about to give up my life, and the next the world had turned to ice, all three demons nothing more than frosty statues. She floated down in the midst of them, looking very much like the goddess we called her, beautiful and perfect and wild, and she took my hand, and pulled me to my feet."

"So she stopped being so cold?"

"No." Tybalt shook his head. "I was alive, however weak, and therefore could be of assistance. I sometimes wonder if her incredible stamina then, all her power . . . if it wasn't what took its toll on her later. I fought beside her until the moon was high and I could barely stand, and somehow we made it back to a fortified position. I don't know if she slept, but I did. I was exhausted. She had us out of our shelters and blankets before dawn and on the move."

"We took heavy losses, but the demons always sustained far heavier. Even when they caught us by surprise, and that only happened once under Marianne's command, we demolished them. We weren't invincible, but we spent ourselves as though we were, and I suppose that might have been what made the difference. I was just as much in awe of her as anyone. I certainly never thought of myself as a prospective suitor." Tybalt frowned, the look strangely pensive. "I'm not sure why, and she only ever told me afterward that I was the prettiest of a poor lot, but one night on the way to my blankets, she pulled me aside. When the war ended, I proposed as a matter of course. I was honestly stunned when she said yes."

"She became a different person after the war ended, to my relief to be honest. I truly wasn't looking forward to being married to a woman who could terrify me with just a look, but . . . well, there was the matter of propriety. Thankfully that ice gradually melted, and I counted myself extremely fortunate after that to have her as a wife."

Hector scratched his jaw and frowned. It was strange enough just to think of elegant Tybalt in the midst of war, tattered and exhausted and filthy, battling nightmares come to life. He'd had no idea that gentle Marianne had been . . . well . . . what sounded like a great war hero, although everyone around her had always treated her with the greatest respect, and perhaps there had been quiet awe there as well.

Still . . .

"What does this have to do with Ambryn?" He asked the question straight out, not at all certain of the answer.

"He bears the same ice within him, the same capacity for . . . ruthlessness under pressure. Sometimes I wonder if it isn't Marianne herself." Tybalt's expression only grew more troubled. "He was always the closest to her." His gaze focused once more on Hector. "You will never win Ambryn through feats of arms, skill at words, or even simple sincerity. Every time you cross him, he will fight, and each time he is pressed, he will grow colder, until that ice shows through. You will never see victory unless he grants it to you."

Hector snorted. "So all of this was just to tell me there's no hope?"

"No." Tybalt shook his head. "It's so that you don't press him when you come with us to Darnassus to keep him safe."

Hector actually shook his head at that, left fumbling by the abrupt segue. "Why-"

"Three night elven priestesses have had a vision, and seen Ambryn at the heart of a great opportunity, or a great disaster – they're not certain of which. They've sent huntresses to collect him. He will accompany me on a diplomatic-"

"No!" Hector bolted upright once more, alarm crashing through him, a rush of adrenaline burning off the buzz of the alcohol. "Tybalt, you _can't_-"

"Let me finish," Tybalt snapped irritably. "You know that Ambryn's seeing a Night Elf. In all honesty, I don't think this paramour capable of betrayal – he seems to genuinely love Ambryn, but I like to hedge my bets."

Hector took a long, deep breath. "So you're going to Darnassus, to kill these priestesses if necessary, along with anyone else that has designs on your son, and you'll take every tool at your disposal. Maybe Ambryn isn't the only one the old Marianne has touched."

"Oh, I won't deny that she's left a mark." Tybalt looked down at his hands. "Sometimes, it's almost as if she's still there, and if I roll over, I can put my arm around her again and . . ." He trailed off, brown eyes uncertain, and shook his head, looking Hector in the eye. "Will you do it, to keep him safe? To pick up the pieces of his heart if this mercenary proves a traitor?"

Hector closed his eyes, and then nodded. Some hope, even just a little, and that probably false, was better than none.

Ж

The expression on Consul Hinishma's Ravensong's face was uneasy. Shaenae didn't blame her. This entire city, built of arcane power, made her uneasy, to say nothing of its inhabitants. Two in particular were of considerable concern.

"Please understand, huntress, that this comes at a time when relations between Dalaran and Darnassus are particularly sensitive. The circumstances could hardly be politically worse. We've always had something of a culturally strained relationship, and now, when we're finally coming closer to a position where we can meet, with one of their more influential politicians willing to really engage in a dialogue . . . I think you can see the difficulty, especially when this vision concerns the Ambassador's own son."

Shaenae grimaced. "Consul, I had no intentions of coming here to foul up international relations." She shrugged. "Truthfully, the priestesses say the omen may be for good _or_ for ill."

"And the druids?"

Shaenae's grimace turned to a genuine wince. "Some among their number are much more . . . outspoken in their disfavor. For now, however, they wait on Tyrande's word."

"She has delayed judgment, I trust?" Hinishma's feathery eyebrows rose.

"Indeed. There's simply not enough information." Shaenae shrugged again, a little helplessly. "Goddess' truth, there are some among the _kal'dorei_ who believe him linked to the thing that ravages the Horde ranks in the south of Ashenvale. Their presence there is all but annihilated. It may well be by now. Some among us would champion the boy for the link by circumstance alone."

"If only the Goddess would shed but a _bit_ more light on which path we ought to take." Hinishma thumped the desk with her fist, expression vexed.

"Unless doing so would lead us to the wrong outcome." Shaenae sighed. "The ways of Elune are not ours. It does more harm than good to second-guess her."

Hinishma cocked an eyebrow. "Do I hear the words of one trained by the Sisterhood of the Moon?"

"Once." Shaenae shook her head. "But that path was . . . not for me."

Hinishma smiled faintly. "That's actually reassuring. Better one trained even a little in the lunar mysteries than a hot-headed warrior with the platitudes of the Blooded Claw ringing in his ears."

Shaenae shook her head again. "In such dealings with creatures of the arcane, I should hope even the hard-liner isolationists would think twice of rash action. Another war, especially with the Kirin Tor, would be one we could ill afford."

"_That_ is wisdom." Hinishma nodded. "You will wait and depart with the Ambassador?"

Shaenae returned the nod. "I see little other choice, and much to be gained by gracefully acquiescing, especially since he makes a gesture towards giving us what we ask at least in part."

"A gesture yes," Hinishma said quietly, gaze turning distant. "But the man has four hands though he appears to have only two. It is those unseen hands for which we must be watchful, and give him no cause for unrest." She stood. "I will send word to Darnassus."

"Send it with Iralia and Lofgryn. They yearn for the forests, and they are dependable." Shaenae pulled on her cloak as she got up. "These lands are cold."

"In more ways than one," Hinishma agreed with a sigh.

Ж

Ambryn had cried himself to sleep in the bedroom.

Deep within, Nathiel felt the fire of rage, smoldering, building in his chest, because it seemed like all the world had suddenly turned against him, trying its level best to smash the beautiful dream he'd discovered at long last. He sat in the darkness on the couch in Ambryn's living room, the scene playing over and over again in his mind, Annatta flinging open the door, her eyes wide. The harsh warning.

_Keep him here, and keep him safe._ Her eyes had been wide and panicked, but behind that, he'd seen a flicker of something else.

Guilt.

Had she left because she couldn't protect him?

Or because she didn't trust herself to?

Nathiel didn't know what was going on in her head. He didn't care. But he knew that look. He'd seen it too many times in his long life, all too often in the eyes of those he'd counted as allies. His fists clenched, gauntlets creaking, and he relaxed with an effort.

First Hector. Then his own people. Now Annatta. What could possibly go wrong next?

Thank Selune for, surprisingly, Tybalt. Nathiel was still strongly averse to the idea of taking Ambryn to Darnassus. It felt too much like walking right into the dragon's maw, but it was better than his own plan, and even ten Kirin Tor would be a force to be reckoned with, not to mention all the muscle Tybalt was hiring, his own guild included.

Nathiel checked on Ambryn, as much for himself as out of concern for his lover, not needing the light coming through the curtains to trace every line of that beloved face, mere darkness unable to hide the rich color of his hair from Nathiel's silver gaze. He dreamt beneath the heavy slumber of emotional exhaustion – too much shock too fast. Nathiel ghosted soundlessly to the bedside and knelt, pressing his lips to the back of one outstretched hand.

The lines in Ambryn's face relaxed ever so slightly, not drawn quite as deeply as before, and somewhere in all the rage that simmered in his breast Nathiel found a spark of gentle warmth. It wasn't enough to make him smile, but it was enough.

He went downstairs, gave a note to the concierge along with a few coins, and went back up to Ambryn's apartment. For a time, he just watched him, and yet Ambryn never seemed to quite settle, shifting slightly, faint noises coming from his mouth.

Nathiel let out a faint sigh, undressed, and slipped into bed with him.

Ambryn curled against him, and his breathing settled at last into the deep, easy rhythms of true, restful sleep, face relaxing. Nathiel couldn't help the smile that curved his own lips this time, and holding Ambryn close, he drifted into the world of dreams as well.

Ж

The kitchen felt strangely empty.

Ambryn looked at the cabinets, the sink, the stove, folded his arms, leaned back against the counter, and could only bear it for a few moments before he went back out to the living room, looking out the window.

He felt listless, ill at ease, off balance.

He was trying to put on a good face for Nathiel. It wasn't as though the state of affairs wasn't bad enough without him moping, but he didn't think he was being very convincing about the whole thing. Nathiel had borne it patiently thus far this morning and last night, kindly even – but Ambryn didn't want to push it.

He didn't want things to get any worse.

He knew if he went to the door he could hear the quiet, graceful flow of the _kal'dorei_ tongue on the other side. Reiyad had arrived early this morning, and Ambryn felt bad, because he hadn't made any breakfast even for the two of them much less for guests.

He glanced back at the kitchen. He'd once thought of it as just . . . well, the basic definition of a kitchen – a place to make a meal when he wasn't eating out, to store food and snacks, to keep the dishes and wash them.

Then suddenly, with Annatta's help, it had become a realm of a sort of domestic magic, where they laughed, talked, shared, and made things that made them happy, made others happy. It had gone from being just a room with a purpose to being a part of _home_, and all the connotations that simple word carried with it.

He could still see Annatta's bright blue eyes, wide and staring, all the color fled from her face. He could still hear the strain in her voice as she told him she had to leave, with no word of explanation.

In all honesty, he supposed he didn't truly blame her for her reaction. It was one thing to ask her to make nice with a member of a people who had had a rocky relationship with her own since time immemorial. It was quite another to expect her to continue that friendship when those people, conceivably dangerous people, might well want him dead. He didn't blame her, and he certainly didn't want her to get hurt.

Ambryn lowered his head, closed his eyes, and let out a sigh. It was better this way.

It was better, but it still cut deep.

Ambryn found himself confronting the root of the problem.

It made him wonder if Reiyad was telling Nathiel to leave him, and that made him feel worse, because a part of him considered that to be perfectly reasonable, even laudable, and another part admonished that part for thinking so poorly of someone who was clearly Nathiel's longtime friend.

All the rest was maundering over the thought that really, there was a very simple solution – no guards, no weapons, no bloodshed.

He could travel to Darnassus to himself to avoid the conflict that Tybalt was undoubtedly already preparing for. He knew his father. Tybalt's assassins wouldn't carry knives in their sleeves, but they would likely be just as deadly. Tybalt wouldn't do it out of malevolence.

No, he'd do it because Ambryn was his son, because it was the appropriate thing for him to do, and because he never left any loose ends.

Ambryn looked out the window, toward the distant horizon, and he shivered, but didn't look away, gaze seeking.

Ж

_"Are you sure this is a good idea?_" Reiyad's expression was uneasy and despite the words being in their native tongue, he kept his voice low. "_I mean, walking right into their midst Nath . . . wouldn't it be better to go to ground? Hide out for a few years? Keep a low profile until all this blows over?_"

"_Just deliver the money for me. The courier will know where to find me._" Nathiel glanced back at the door. He knew his nervousness was showing. Tybalt's words still resonated in his ears.

It was strange, this sudden need to _touch_ Ambryn, not just because he desired him, but to reassure himself with that physical contact. His imagination spun fanciful horrors, a band of night elven hunters breaking in through the window despite the fact that they were high above the street and it would be impossible for them to climb the sheer side of the building unseen in broad daylight, or a sniper in the building across the street even though it would take something with the power of a ballista to maintain sufficient inertia to break through the glass, not to mention incredible luck to actually hit anything.

"_Don't tell anyone I said this, but . . . Nath, I'm worried about him. He's not a bad person. He doesn't deserve this._"

"_Then we'll hope that our people are wise, and that his own kindness rules this fate they fear._" Nathiel put his hand on Reiyad's shoulder, feeling a rush of warmth for the other _kal'dorei_. "_But I plan to be well-armed, just in case_."

Reiyad nodded, slower this time. "_It's a little fucked up, that you're thinking about using it on . . . well, on your own people._"

"_The whole thing is fucked up._" Nathiel glanced once more toward the door, thinking about Ambryn waiting beyond it, alone. "_I'll need to you to come back tonight, at nightfall. I have to meet the courier alone._" He glanced at Reiyad. "_I need you to keep an eye on Ambryn for me. I'm depending on you._"

Reiyad clasped Nathiel's hand with his own. "_You can count on me, I swear it._"

"_I know_."

"_Enjoy it while it lasts. You don't get paid very often for eating good food and enjoying great sex._" Reiyad grinned, and after a moment Nathiel managed to find a grin of his own.

"I was actually thinking of taking Ambryn out for breakfast. I haven't done it in a while." Nathiel slipped back into Common. "Care to join us?"

Reiyad didn't hesitate. He obviously hadn't eaten either. "Sure."

It wasn't until Nathiel was watching Ambryn get out of the shower that his body abruptly reminded him that they hadn't had sex in two days, blood rushing to his cock, and he had to admit to himself that he'd gotten rather spoiled. Here they were, in the middle of what was promising to damn well be a crisis, and he was getting as hard as if he hadn't had sex in two weeks. It didn't help when Ambryn put a foot up on the side of the tub to towel his toes off, because Nathiel's gaze immediately went to the perfect, creamy curves of his bottom as he bent over, and his mouth went dry, blood pounding. Telling himself that he was acting like an animal in heat didn't help. If anything, it just made it worse.

Ambryn straightened, looked up at him, and his eyes widened slightly, the smile that curved his lips a lot more genuine than the ones he'd been giving lately, warm and intimate and _so_ incredibly inviting.

"Have I told you lately that you're beautiful?" Nathiel asked absently, unable to help the way his hands gripped Ambryn's hips, sliding up his ribs. "I mean, as in absolutely breathtaking?"

"Just the other day, but I have to admit I like hearing it," Ambryn replied playfully as Nathiel's hands came up to cup the sides of his face. "Have I told you lately that you have the body of a god, only better because it's flesh and blood?"

"I have to admit," Nathiel replied, tone dropping to a husky bass. "I like hearing it."

"Reiyad's waiting," Ambryn breathed as Nathiel's face dipped toward his.

Nathiel kissed him anyway, long and deep, and let out a frustrated growl as he pulled away. Ambryn smiled at him, and his hand closed on Nathiel's engorging penis, the girth too much for him to get his fingers all the way around the hot, hard shaft.

"Promise," he murmured warmly, and kissed Nathiel's chest.

"I'll hold you to it." Nathiel couldn't help the continued low tone of his voice. Part of him was thinking of suitable excuses for asking Reiyad to take a raincheck. Ambryn kissed one of the hands that still cupped his face, and wrapped his towel modestly around himself before he went out.

It helped a little bit that Ambryn was already dressed when he finished showering. Nathiel didn't think twice about strapping a brace of knives to his right thigh over his breeches so they'd be easily to hand and his moon glaive to the small of his back, though he did leave his spear and his armor behind.

Ambryn was wearing one of his favorites, the long-sleeved shirt in soft, satiny lavender that had a pearly sheen to it, the sleeves and throat lightly embroidered in white, along with a pair of loose, comfortable blue trousers. Nathiel wanted to pull it all off. Reiyad was giving him a knowingly amused look, and he returned it with an unabashed grin.

He kept his gaze moving, eyes alert on the way to the breakfast place, and was reassured by the way Reiyad did as well, Ambryn between them. They didn't see any strange _kal_'_dorei_, and Nathiel was able to relax a little bit once they sat down. He didn't pull out a chair for Ambryn, just sat and tugged his human lover into his lap, breathing in Ambryn's scent and enjoying the weight of him, the proportions just right, the feel of that delightful bottom against his crotch.

Sure, he was gratifying himself to a certain extent in public, but for a man in his position, allowances had to be made. He was a hard-working bodyguard on the job after all, and no one was going to snatch Ambryn right out of his arms. Ambryn himself certainly didn't seem to mind the seating arrangements. The warmth was back in his eyes.

It wasn't that Nathiel had forgotten what was going on around them. Elune knew he was more aware of it than he wanted to be, but that strange dreamy spell between them was back, renewed in that moment of desire in the apartment, weaving a barrier, however ephemeral, between what was now and what might be, and he had no intentions of disrupting it.

They didn't talk about was coming, didn't speak of Ashenvale, or the journey, or Darnassus. They talked about Vir Aegeae, mostly gossip, a lot of it old, and to Nathiel's surprise and pleasure, Ambryn joined in with a few funny stories about Periont's Tower and the goings-on there, although, he couldn't help but notice, there was no mention of Annatta in any of them.

The food was good, though he couldn't help thinking that Ambryn's cooking would have been better. Preferably served by the cook, completely naked. Just the thought would have been enough to get him rock hard if he wasn't already at full attention anyway. He sat there in that restaurant, his arm around Ambryn's waist, the warmth of him filling his lap perfectly, and couldn't help but think that in spite of everything, or maybe even especially in light of it, that he was one lucky, lucky man.

He brought Ambryn's head around with a gentle finger on his chin, looked into those jade eyes that made his world whole, and the next thought felt not just natural, but overdue.

It was time to make it official.

He didn't speak the words, but kissed Ambryn, gently, lightly, holding the kiss, and felt his lover mold himself to him, their lips fitting together in exquisite perfection.

Reiyad saw them back to the apartment, for which Nathiel was grateful, but didn't linger, for which he was even _more_ grateful, and Nathiel swept Ambryn up in his arms, carrying him to the bedroom.

He took his time, taking it slow. He wanted this to last, wanted to luxuriate in this while they had the chance, mapping every expanse of Ambryn's flesh anew with his mouth, with his fingers, tasting, caressing the soft, pale skin, relishing the way Ambryn responded to him, surrendered to him without any doubt or hesitation, admiring the contrast between their skin tones, pale white against rich, dark purple. When Nathiel finally entered him, uniting them, it felt more than just good – it felt glorious, and it felt _right_. Every bone in his body, every drop of blood needed this, desired this, and his heart reveled in it.

He kept the pace slow, each stroke of his manhood into Ambryn's yielding, embracing body powerful, fulfilling, strong, steady, bringing them closer to that ascension into ecstasy. He breathed against Ambryn's neck, kissed it, and thrust into that tight heat, his hands on Ambryn's hips, feeling his lover arch under him, hearing him call his name, the air hot and thick with the smell of sex. Ambryn's curls spilled across the pillow like honey, and Nathiel kissed its silken waves before he reclaimed Ambryn's mouth.

There was something here beyond words, more than just the temporary pleasures of the flesh. It was a union of souls. It was life. It was refuge. In the moment that they climaxed together, Nathiel wasn't just sated. He was completed, fulfilled, utterly satisfied as the heavens seemingly opened up around them and the world dissolved into primal, extraordinary bliss.

For a long time afterward, he simply held Ambryn in his arms, listening to the silence, still buried to the hilt in his body, hidden away from the world by four walls and soft, rumpled sheets. Time flitted past on silent wings.

"I should go make lunch," Ambryn said finally.

"Mmm." Nathiel didn't loosen his embrace. He wasn't quite ready to break the spell.

Ambryn giggled, and Nathiel smiled.

He let Ambryn up eventually, as much because nature inevitably made its demands known as because he was hungry. He watched, wondering for a moment why Ambryn hesitated in the kitchen doorway, hand coming up to rest on the frame, luscious body wrapped in a thin dressing robe, and after a moment, Nathiel understood.

Annatta again. It was . . . it had become _their_ place, and as much as he begrudged the _quel'dorei_ female any part of Ambryn she could lay claim to, just the sight of Ambryn's pain made him wish that whatever had happened between them yesterday had never come to pass. Still, if she couldn't trust herself with him, at least she had honor enough to see it, and do what was right. It was hard, but in the end, it was probably better.

Nathiel felt a small swell of pride as Ambryn stepped over that invisible line in the empty doorway. Within a half hour, delicious smells emanated once more from the kitchen, and while Ambryn arched an eyebrow when Nathiel plucked a morsel of chicken from where it was still simmering in its spicy bourbon sauce and popped it into his mouth, he also met Nathiel's unrepentant grin with a laughing smile. They ate there in the kitchen from a single large plate, Ambryn sitting on the counter, Nathiel standing between his knees, licking delicious sauce from the side of Ambryn's mouth, tasting it when he kissed his lips.

The dishes went into the sink, and Nathiel carried Ambryn back into the living room, his human lover's weight light in his arms, and settled on the couch, Ambryn in his lap, Ambryn's head on his chest, running his fingers over the rich, thick, honey-brown curls, feeling Ambryn relax in his embrace.

He was silent for a long moment, trying to think of where to begin.

"You know," he said after a moment. "I haven't felt this way in almost six hundred years." He felt Ambryn shift, looked down into those verdant jade eyes, and saw his own luminous silver orbs reflected in them. "I haven't felt so incredibly at peace."

"That's a very long time," Ambryn said finally into the silence, a little sadly, one hand coming up to caress the side of Nathiel's face, fingertips as light and soft as butterfly wings.

Nathiel captured them, kissed them, and held them over his heart. "It was worth it."

Ambryn's smile lost its sadness, warming once more.

Nathiel looked deep into those jade wells, like rich forests he could lose himself in, oceans of green with no shore, no end, watching carefully, not wanting to miss what happened in their depths. He didn't feel hesitant, just glad, luxuriating in this moment, tasting what he was about to say.

"I love you, Ambryn Dellani."

Ambryn's eyes widened, and then his smile turned brilliant, luminous, face shining like a star, eyes even more impossibly beautiful than before, full of love, the afternoon sunlight coming in through the window limning his countenance in golden radiance.

Ambryn looked up into the blazing silver eyes, studied the darkly handsome face beneath the short-cropped night-blue hair, pulse racing not with alarm, but with rapture. It felt impossible, the feeling that swelled within him, and yet it was the most natural feeling in the world, one that had been there for a long time now, only fully blossoming in that moment, his hand resting on Nathiel's granite chest over his great heart, sensing the way it beat powerfully beneath his palm. The world ceased to matter. His cares ceased to exist.

"And I love you, Nathiel Highfury."

What followed was a kiss for the ages.

_End of Act I._

Ж

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**Author's Postscript Notes:**

**As always, I leave you with a request for constructive criticism. If you see typos, grammar errors, awkward lines, or something just plain sucks or doesn't fit, please let me know that in the reviews! Help me be a better writer, and I'll give you better stuff to read! Comments and questions are always welcome too!**

**Again – this chapter was written at a rather brisk pace – was it too brisk? Too slow? Too much? Too little? Let me know.**

**Thanks goes to those of you who've been kind enough to leave reviews thus far, especially Dusty, who has continued to provide me with some really concrete in-depth feedback!**

**Also, random hello to my reader from Ireland! I've always thought the Irish are sexy!**

**Edit: Additional thanks goes to Cyght for helping me get my goddesses straight!**


	16. Act II Scene I: Hope and Desperation

**Author's Notes:**

**Yep, I'm back.**

**I think.**

**At least, for a chapter or so anyway.**

**That was a long intermission I know. For any of you who have read the previous chapters already, and take the time to read them again to remind yourselves of the plot, I am so terribly sorry and so humbly grateful for your patronage.**

* * *

Ж

Act II Scene I

Hope and Desperation

Ambryn was outlined against the morning light streaming through the window. It traced his curls with radiant fingers and embraced the shape of his body through the translucent lavender sleeping robe he wore. He looked like spun crystal to Nathiel's eyes, beautiful but so terribly delicate, fragile enough to shatter beneath careless hands. He stared out into the bright morning, his arms wrapped around him.

Stared south.

Nathiel knew the place where his human beloved's thoughts lingered, there in the great, emerald-forested north of Kalimdor, high in the great leafy boughs of shadowed Teldrassil, among the moonlit alabaster marble columns and clear reflecting pools of Darnassus and the fey, ancient, powerful people that dwelt in their midst. He felt a moment's frustration at Fate's fickle caprice, choosing this moment, out of all the centuries he'd lived before it, to intrude on the love he'd finally found and attempt to tear it from his iron grasp.

What tangled threads indeed, woven by destiny's callous hands, threatening to pit his love against his own people. It was the web of some twisted, depraved spider that fed on the ephemeral hopes of the living. This prophecy was an abomination.

Nathiel shook his head. It wasn't like him to mope, and it wasn't good for Ambryn to brood. Justifiable? Probably. Necessary? Not if Nathiel had anything to say about it, and he planned to have an eloquent argument indeed.

Breath-Stealer was locked in a long, flat box in the main room, the two foot-long elementium blade and its mounting waiting only for a haft to be locked into place, the dark, potent enchantments slumbering within still harsh and relentless as ever.

It was that very power that had made him send it away until a moment of dire need arose. He couldn't think of a greater need than now.

"That thing you brought back."

Nathiel blinked, startled out of his thoughts. Ambryn wasn't looking at him. He continued to face the window.

"Do you really plan to use it?" Ambryn's voice was soft, carrying the weight of a world of regrets.

Nathiel got up and pulled Ambryn tenderly back into his arms, holding him close. "Only if I need to. I swear it." His next words were more for Ambryn's benefit than because he truly believed them. "It may not come to that."

"I hope it doesn't have to." The words were a plaintive whisper. "I can feel it. I can sense its terrible power."

Nathiel held the embrace for a moment, trying to think of something else to say. Nothing came to mind. But things to do . . .

He brought his head in close to Ambryn's lovely neck, breathing in the scent of him, touched with just that faint hint of cool mint, mingling with the scent of soap and his own natural smells. It was a reassuring scent. An arousing one.

His lips parted a hair's breadth from that pale skin, and he breathed out.

Ambryn shivered in his arms. Nathiel kissed his skin, lightly, tenderly. _This_ was a magic he could rely on, a spell he needed no magecraft to weave, a primal bond between them. In these small moments, these heartbeats of passion, they spoke more than mere words could convey to each other, a language of touches, caresses, looks, kisses. The words were just an affirmation of this union, however sweet and vindicating their sound.

He might not have the words to soothe all of Ambryn's fears and misgivings, to banish them from the waking world. But this - _this_ he could do.

There would be more. There would be much more. A proper wedding, for one thing. For himself, for Ambryn, but most of all to let the world know that his sweet human lover was spoken for, was irrevocably taken.

He would suffer no rivals, allow no adversaries. Ambryn belonged to _him_, and him alone, body and soul.

Forever.

Ж

The air felt dry, Annatta thought for the first time in her life since she'd entered Dalaran's walls. This far above the world, there was no rain. Moisture was supplied through inconspicuous magic, discreet, spellcrafted dew that glimmered on leaves and buds day in and day out - a gleaming shimmer under the light of sun and moon and stars and the eldritch luminance of the city's own lights.

It still took her breath away, the memory of a night after a rare sojourn beyond Dalaran's wards and violet roofs, watching from griffon-back as it floated atop a bank of storm clouds, an island on a ghostly, tossing black sea, lightning flickering like harsh, irregular heartbeats, bursts of glaring, blazing, brilliant blue in the dark depths. The neon lights of the city had danced on contrasting snow-white alabaster spires and soaring samite walls, found vivid reflections in polished marble of deep, rich royal purple. She'd thought it impossibly lovely then, inspiring and majestic in its glorious seat in the heavens.

But the rain never crested those walls, never fell among those spires, not any more.

It felt as though the sky should have been pouring out its grief along with hers, sharing in her loss, gray veils thick with chill rain masking sun and moon and stars from sight, dimming the lights, cloaking the streets in fog, cloistering its inhabitants in misty, cold solemnity appropriate to the gravity of the circumstances.

But there was no rain, not at such an altitude.

The best she'd managed to find was one of the fountains in the public squares, not too gaily lit. A young elven girl half-knelt, looking as though she'd stumbled, perhaps half-fallen, the ewer in her slender, delicate hands half-tipped, its bottom braced against one bent knee, her features fixed in never-ending dismay as she watched water tumble endlessly from its mouth.

If Annatta held her head just right, she'd didn't see the staring stone turtles and one extremely and very apparently shocked pheasant under the fall of water. She could ignore the bear cub sitting on its rump and looking very cute and mildly alarmed to the elf-maid's left. From where she was standing she could pretend the three platypi poking their duck-billed faces curiously out of a cleverly-carved screen of reeds were just very, very detailed and uniformly-shaped rocks.

It took rather more effort on the part of her imagination than she'd have liked, but she was making do as best she could to pretend that the scene was at least _mostly_ depressing.

_Damn_ these witty human artists, she thought harshly to herself, finally giving up. There had to be at least _one_ depressing monument or fountain around here _somewhere._ The city had been sacked by _demons_ for pity's sake! _Twice!_

Of course, a small part of her pointed out as she turned away from the fountain and stalked off in a dissatisfied huff, crimson skirts clutched in her hands, maybe that was exactly what they were trying to avoid thinking about. Really, when she considered it in that light, she supposed she couldn't honestly blame them.

Still, she wished it would rain, even if only to dull the edges of the world around her, soften it, take away a little of the light and color so that it didn't feel quite so sharp.

So that its purity and brilliance didn't remind her quite so much of sweet, wounded Ambryn.

Annatta had to stop and unclench her fists at the thought. She looked down at her palms, studying the livid red marks against her pale, golden, lovely skin, soft and smooth. She wondered at how those hands couldn't reflect the blackness of her deceit. There wasn't a smudge or even the slightest fleck of dirt, no blemish but those she'd made, and those would fade quickly enough. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

Rending her garments like in the old tales and wailing wouldn't do much good. Not only would people look at her strangely, but self-flagellation had an inherent sort of insincerity to it. It certainly wouldn't make things better between them. Ambryn might take pity on her. He might feel even worse.

She cut off that train of thought and took another deep, calming breath.

Nathiel would guard him, protect him, see him safe – of that she had no doubt.

Only she wanted to be there herself, let her distantly-related dusk-colored kin know that golden fire waited to eagerly devour any who wished Ambryn ill. She wanted to protect Ambryn, make him smile when his face grew too sad, hold his hand and reassure him when he was afraid, listen to the rich sound of his laugh, and bask in the warmth of his blessed soul. She wanted it so much that it hurt.

She wanted, more than anything else, to tell him that she was sorry.

Something sparked in her memory then, a recollection of jasmine and rose and lilac and lavender and a dozen others, flower petals still sweet with faint, ancient scents, a well-worn binding and smooth, aged paper. Sweet, silly, simple poetry that romanticized not the magic of this place, but the mundane things of ordinary, everyday life. It was a mad idea, but it felt _right_.

Maybe she couldn't tell him herself that she was sorry, not this time, but she could at least apologize to someone else, someone who had touched her soul, even if only briefly.

Much like the _Kal'dorei_ of Kalimdor who were their ancestors and even the humans, the _Quel'Dorei_ held a certain veneration for the departed, believing that one's ancestors continued to watch over their descendants, that their sacrifices should be honored and remembered, their mortal remains treated with dignity and respect.

The Kirin Tor were no different in this belief, only radically different in their handling of it.

The memory of the Scourge was yet fresh in the memory of Dalaran and her people. Battles were fought not just for the sake of the living, but over the very remains of the dead. The Kirin Tor, scarred by their battles with the very Burning Legion itself, had taken steps that some might consider extreme.

Annatta thought it only very appropriate as she stopped and purchased a small candle of incense, then made her way to the Last Tower.

One might have thought it a fortress by the name, a last redoubt, and in a sense, that was true. It was where every member of the Kirin Tor came eventually to rest in eternal peace, surrounded by spells and magics in death as they had been in life, a realm not physically present on the mortal plane, but a space shaped of magic itself, the powers that guarded it ensuring that no necromantic craft, no corruption, would ever take root within.

There had been no graveyards left behind in Alterac. The Kirin Tor had brought their beloved dead with them. They would always be with them, and there was a very real comfort in that.

Annatta looked up at the Last Tower as she approached it, surrounded by its ring of arches and the quiet cloisters reserved for the grieving, to the only domed top among Dalaran's spires that was white rather than the traditional rich violet purple, and felt a little of the burden on her heart ease at last.

She walked forward into the opaque mists, feeling spells brush against her thoughts, sensing the one for whom she sought. That too, was part of the magic of this place. Only those who came in reverence, with no thoughts of defilement, would ever find what they were looking for.

Marianne Dellani's sarcophagus floated on the other side of the small circle that had cleared in the pearl gray fog, and Annatta stopped, struck for a moment by just the sight of the life-like carvings in the polished white marble. It was easy to see that she'd been a remarkably beautiful woman. She would have stood out even among elf-kind. The reliefs of her hair were wavy, curly locks, her features delicate yet possessed of a certain strength, cheekbones prominent without being too solid, brow gracious. She had a small, faint smile on her lips. One stone hand clasped the shape of a book to her bosom. The fingers of the other were curved gently around what looked to have been a plush lion.

Tears came to Annatta's eyes, and she knelt, setting the candle before the sarcophagus, lighting it with a single, quick wisp of conjured flame. The flicker of the flame and the way it danced on the pale stone almost lent the still features a semblance of life, awakening a soft gleam that eased the cold hardness of the sculpted marble.

"You . . . might not know me," she began after a moment. "But I know Ambryn . . . and I'm sure you're very proud of him. He . . . he has such a good heart. I imagine he's a lot like you in that way." She looked up into those faintly smiling features, studying them, seeing little resemblances – the lines of the eyes, the slant of the nose, the shape of the lips.

"I came here . . ." Annatta paused, took a deep breath, and felt tears slide down her cheeks. "I came here to say I'm sorry, truly sorry, for what I almost did to him. I realize that it'd probably be awfully hard for you to forgive me. If you can't, I understand. I just . . . I got so tangled up in what I wanted – what I thought I needed. I lost my way. I knew _why_ I was doing it, but I'm not sure it was the right "why" if that even makes any sense." She brushed the tears out of her eyes with the back of her hand, imagined that maybe, just maybe through the blurriness, those stone features softened a little. She sniffled. "So, I'm sorry. I know you'll watch out for Ambryn. You have a wonderful son. I'm grateful for the time that I got to know him, to share with him, to have with him as his friend. He was very good to me. I . . . I wish I'd been a better friend to him."

For a moment, Annatta just sat back on her heels. She felt drained, empty, tired, but it was a good tiredness, as if the last of a poison had drawn from a wound. She out one last, long, shuddering breath and closed her eyes, trying to reclaim her composure.

"Always beaten to the punch." Hector's tone was rueful, and it was really rather sad.

Her surprise lasted for a mere heartbeat before her rage consumed it in a flash of ire. Annatta leaped to her feet, dashing tears angrily from her face. "What are _you_ doing here!?" Her voice was a threatening hiss, promising dire retribution.

For a long moment, Hector just looked at her. She studied him back. In truth, he looked rather the worse for wear, as though he hadn't slept in days, hair mussed, blue eyes bloodshot, stubble on his jaw, wearing armor that looked to have more than a little of the dust of the road still on it.

He half-shrugged, holding up the candle in one hand, expression worn. "I came here for the same thing you did – to say sorry." He shook his head, and stepped forward, limping slightly. "If there's anyone who's ever been forgiving in that family, it's Marianne."

Annatta continued to eye him mistrustfully, though in truth she _did_ feel the slightest bit guilty for immediately assuming he was up to no good. "Are you hurt?"

Irritation crossed his handsome, chiseled features. "Took a fall getting off my horse. It's nothing." He stopped next to her, and then paused. He held out his candle after a moment, expression returning to more of its previous hangdog look. "Help me out?"

Mostly compelled by propriety, but also remembering when the man had taken pity on her, and feeling just the _tiniest_ bit of pity in turn, she lit the candle for him, a blaze blooming between her fingertips, brightening as the wick caught.

Hector didn't immediately set the candle down, just looked down at it for a moment, and then up at the sarcophagus, brow slightly furrowed. "I knew her, back when I was a boy. Sweetest woman I ever knew. The Ambassador – he says she was the hardest woman he ever met, scared the daylights out of him. It's a little hard to believe, you know?" He was silent for a moment. His voice grew quiet. "But I can almost see it in her face now, the way Ambryn looked at me . . . so cold . . ."

"_Watch your mouth!_" The snarled words were past Annatta's lips and hanging on the air before she'd thought better of them.

Hector looked over at her, startled, almost as though he'd forgotten she was still present. He shook his head, got down awkwardly on his knees with a grimace, and set the candle next to hers.

"Whatever Tybalt may have said about you, whoever you were before I knew you . . ." Hector looked up at Marianne and shook his head. "It doesn't matter now. I know who you were. I knew you as a mother, and I respect you for it. I did wrong by you and Ambryn both. I was blinded by my need for him. I couldn't see that it wasn't me he needed in return, not in the way I wanted him to. I'm sorry, Marianne, and I should have known better. I promise you, this time I'll make you proud. This time, I'll look to his happiness before looking for my own at his expense, Light as my witness."

The last words sent a wave of unease washing over Annatta, not for herself this time, but for Ambryn, because she didn't like the sound of that final part. She turned and stalked out of the Last Tower.

She couldn't defile that sacred space with violence, so Hector was safe for now at least. There was one thing, though, that she _could_ do. Before she'd more than half-realized her own intentions, her steps had turned towards Ambryn's apartment building.

Her resolve carried her as far as the broad white paving stones of the street just outside before it failed her.

She knew full well that Ambryn would be home. Unless Nathiel coaxed him out, then he was, to be honest, something of a homebody. In the beginning she'd found that useful because it meant she had less competition for his attention, and really, her only main competitor then had been the very male she had hoped Ambryn would ensnare.

But the more she'd gotten to know him, the more she'd come to treasure the time they spent together, the moments that were just between the two of them, the friendship carefully nurtured in that kitchen where they'd cooked and talked and laughed, until she _didn't_ want to share him, didn't _want_ him to go anywhere else. She'd kept him safely cocooned there, like a secret, sparkling jewel in a velvet box. He'd been her own secret paradise, his apartment a hidden sanctuary where she found her soul calmed and warmed and reinvigorated.

Then Hector had come.

Ambryn had fallen well and truly in love.

Nathiel, the man who'd stolen the very heart Annatta had begun covet for herself, had become a constant presence.

Even then, the kitchen had been _their_ place. Nathiel had even seemed to respect that, had never violated the boundaries of that sacred precinct in her presence without being bidden. He had respected their bond.

Before the hunters from Darnassus.

Before she'd ruined everything.

Annatta looked up at the tall bulk of the apartment building, windows gleaming in the late afternoon sun, and realized that she was trembling.

Fear was only part of it, embarrassment less than a shadow – the worst was the shame and the guilt, so deep in her she wondered if she'd ever be free of it, wondered if the darkness could ever be cleansed from her immortal soul. How could she possibly make amends? Where did she even begin to make a start?

_You can start by trying._

For one stark, startled moment as the thought hit, it felt . . . not quite alien, but as though it almost belonged to someone else.

Annatta closed her eyes, centering herself around that quicksilver inspiration, the first light in what felt like a long year of darkness though in truth it had been only days. She could do it. She could make it right. She could be the friend she'd pretended to be, and then _wanted_ to be. That she _still_ wanted to be.

The words came back to her suddenly, only flush with new meaning, rich with a life they'd seemed to lack before.

_I am Quel'dorei. _

_I am a descendant of King Dath'Remar Sunstrider. _

_I will feed upon nothing but the sun. _

_I will feed upon only purity. _

_I will not be corrupted._

Fire woke in her heart, golden flames that seemed to burn away the shadows that had clouded her thoughts. With a strange, distant sense of incredulity, she thought that now, more than ever, she'd found the true meaning in the mantra she'd clung to for five long years. She'd lost her way, but at long last, before it was too late, she'd found it. The corruption of the last line wasn't merely the dependence upon fel magic that plagued her people – it was the corruption of her own heart.

Determination was a heady drug racing through her veins, quickening her step. Head held high, chin up, clear blue eyes fixed on her destination, she strode briskly toward the doors of Ambryn's apartment building.

The waters of the Well of Eternity might never be hers, might be forever beyond her grasp, but if the price was Ambryn's affection, then it was a price that wasn't worth paying.

Her steps brought her to Ambryn's door far quicker than she would have thought, as though she didn't already know every step, as if she could have somehow forgotten the way the carpet met her shoes with that same soft whisper after months of walking it.

She paused in front of his door, feeling a mixture of apprehension and a strange sort of reverence rise up to mingle with the determination that still burned within.

Whatever happened after this, she had made her decision.

She would not abandon Ambryn. He was her friend, and as long as they lived, she would stand by his side, through whatever storms and danger might crest the horizon, through darkness and sadness, no matter what stood in their path.

Annatta took a deep, bracing breath, and knocked on the polished wood, feeling as much as hearing the soft echo of each knock, as though she timidly sought entry at the door of her own soul.

Perhaps, in a very real way, she did.

A moment tiptoed by, and she felt a brief moment of chagrin. Maybe he _was_ out with Nathiel. Should she wait here? Downstairs? Maybe leave a note for-

The door opened.

Annatta froze with the suddenness of it, her heart in her throat, blood suddenly pounding loud in her ears, because Ambryn was right there, inches away, and his green eyes were startled in his pale face. Then his arms were around her, so blessedly tight, his flesh warm, and she hugged him back with fierce strength, feeling tears rolling down her cheeks, except that they weren't tears of sadness. They were tears of joy, and she felt as though her heart might burst with the radiance that swelled within it.

She was back.

Back where she belonged.

Ж

Feeling relaxed after a long nap with Nathiel, muscles loose, but knowing that the worst was still to come, Ambryn went to answer the door with more of a sense of resignation than anything else. Nathiel was out, but not for very long. He seldom left for more than a few minutes at a time, and Ambryn was selfishly grateful for that. He was the only thing that made this bearable.

He was the reason that Ambryn hadn't quietly traveled to Kalimdor already.

Of course, Nathiel didn't knock either.

Cautious curiosity came to the fore. Reiyad perhaps?

Ambryn hesitated.

Could it be someone else entirely?

He shook his head. Even the idea was stupid. His father almost assuredly had more eyes on the place than was reasonable. It was highly unlikely anyone would get in that wasn't supposed to. Almost irritated with himself, he marched forward, turned the handle, pulled the door open, and looked right into Annatta's wide blue eyes.

For a moment he couldn't believe what he was seeing, because he thought he'd likely never see her again. He'd believed her gone in his heart. Another loss he'd never truly get over. Another memory he'd look back on and regret in whatever time was left to him.

He couldn't help himself.

His arms were around her, and hers were around him, and they were crying, or laughing, maybe both, probably both, and his heart was racing with relief, and shameful gratitude, and he thought it might gallop right out of his chest it was thundering so hard.

He hesitated to let her go, but stepped back, suddenly afraid he'd overstepped the bounds of the remnants of their friendship, that this wasn't all he'd made it out to be, except that he looked into her eyes and saw the same reluctance to be apart just yet, so he relaxed his embrace, and smiled tremulously at her, wiping his cheek with his sleeve.

"I – won't you please come in?" he asked. Pleaded almost.

She nodded, eyes wet.

They spent the first couple of minutes just sitting at his table, drying their eyes, waiting for the sniffles to subside, sharing a box of green tissues and just smiling at each other. It felt somehow unreal, almost too good to be true, as if by either one of them moving too suddenly in the wrong direction they might shatter the moment. He took a deep breath, and braced himself.

"I'm sorry-"

"Don't." Annatta's voice came out sharp, expression turning fierce. "Don't you dare apologize, Ambryn. Not a word." She reached out and took his hand in hers, clasping his fingers tight. "You have nothing to apologize for. _Nothing_. I was a coward. I was afraid, and I was . . . willing to do what I thought I had to. But I realized that I couldn't. So I'm here, because I _want_ to be here. I am going to stay by you. You're my friend. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I promise."

Ambryn let out an unlovely hiccup, covering his mouth with a blush. "You don't have to."

"I do. I _do_, Ambryn. For you and me both. No matter what happens, I am _not_ leaving you." She got up, and he found himself wrapped in another tight hug. She let him go after a moment, and sat back down. Then, with a rueful smile, she handed him another bright green tissue, and took one for herself so she could blow her nose.

Ж

Something was cooking. Nathiel could smell it on the air the moment he walked in, subtle and rich, just the odor mouthwatering. In the kitchen someone laughed, and he had to stop and take a deep breath, because his vision wanted to turn red at the edges at the sound of her voice.

He'd understood why she left. Understanding why she was back now was something else altogether. He hadn't forgiven her for the way she'd made Ambryn bleed, wasn't sure he ever would or even could. He took another deep, silent breath and unclenched his fists one knuckle at a time, waiting for the anger to subside.

And then there it was - a giggle - no more than a heartbeat, but the sound of Ambryn's joy soothed him, and Nathiel managed to rein in his temper, because it was genuinely happy. He padded soundlessly to the kitchen doorway.

"No really, I swear – he does this _amazing _thing with his tongue, and it's absolutely _mind-blowing_," Ambryn said enthusiastically, gesturing with the wooden spoon in one hand, expression earnest. "It's like he-"

Ambryn stopped in mid-word, because he'd turned and caught sight of Nathiel's smug, masculine grin of pure, undisguised self-satisfaction, and his face turned brilliant scarlet, and then blanched dead white. Annatta turned slowly, features just as pale, but her teeth were gritted, sky-blue eyes wide and fixed, as though she were preparing to ride out a hurricane in a rowboat.

"I didn't hear you come in," Ambryn said quietly.

Having just heard his praises sung with such obvious and oblivious enthusiasm, Nathiel was a little more inclined to leniency than he might have ordinarily been. He swaggered forward, clasping Ambryn's hips with his hands, looking down into those wide green eyes, and kissed him.

He took his time plundering Ambryn's mouth, and when he was done, Ambryn leaning weak-kneed against him, he glanced over to find Annatta looking at the floor, hands clasped in front of her, complexion turned a delicate shade of pink.

"Dinner smells good," he said generously, now in an altogether _much_ better mood.

"We - Ambryn thought you might enjoy pasta with carabini. Lobster, crab, scallops, shrimp, some spices." Annatta managed to raise her eyes to meet his at last.

"Staying for dinner?" He knew she heard the real question, saw the flash of it in her eyes, and a little to his surprise, her jaw firmed, and she nodded crisply. She met his gaze full-on now.

Nathiel nodded. "Glad to have you, then."

He pretended not to notice the twin not-quite-silent sighs of relief as he prowled back out into the living room, but a smile was tugging at the corner of his lips. The pale-skinned highborn spawn was a bitch, but she was a bitch with backbone, and he could respect that. Appreciate it even, since she made Ambryn happy.

Nathiel relaxed onto the couch and stretched out his long legs. When Ambryn was happy, _he_ was happy.

He was still planning on putting her out the door right after dinner though. Standards had to be upheld after all, and after that kiss, he was _damn_ horny.

Actually, when it came to Ambryn he was pretty much always horny.

Nathiel leaned back, reached down to adjust himself, and smiled.

Ж

Ypsis licked her lips, tasting the remnants of fel fire in the dark fluid. There was something primal about feeding in this way, something powerful and visceral in the tearing of flesh, the drinking of blood. There was something darkly glorious in the hunt, the kill, the feast.

She sat back on her knees, heedless of the blood that dribbled down her bare breasts, glided, cooling, over her flat belly toward the apex of her slim thighs. Her rootlets rose, gnawing at the ravaged corpse, jagged teeth in dragon-headed vines snapping, consuming all but the clean-picked bones, cracking them open to devour the marrow, teething them even as they withdrew into the earth, leaving broken white ivory markers half-submerged in their wake.

This one had tried to run.

She had allowed it, had given chase, taking the shape of a wolf, her howls echoing through the lightless night forest, become a panther, growling from the boughs overhead, stalking body half-seen in the flickering light of his torch, its light dancing briefly in the gold of her eyes, become a great raven, buffeting him with her obsidian wings, feathers glinting.

She'd driven him, haunted him, hunted him, tormented him, until at last, he stumbled into the clearing where she waited, the glow of his torch barely more than a smolder. He'd fallen to his knees, saying something in his coarse tongue, pleading perhaps, exhausted and quaking with fear and weariness.

Ypsis had studied him. These _orcs_, as they were called, were relatively new to her. No such creature of her recollection had existed during the War of the Ancients that had birthed her. The satyrs, the imps, the demons – all these and so many more, she hunted as she had of old. The trolls she knew. The barbarian Tauren, the goblins – even the pale-skinned elfkin, surely another new shape of satyr by the fel taint they held, corruptions of her own people, she devoured without pause.

But these orcs – they had a strange flavor beneath the demons' charnel taste, a hint of something truly alien beyond even the demonic.

It was intriguing to her.

He'd started to lurch to his feet – perhaps to attack, perhaps to attempt to flee once more. The light had left his wide, staring eyes as her hand withdrew from his chest, holding his heart as it let out one last feeble quiver.

Demon thralls, these, almost certainly, but not from any of the worlds she knew.

It was all purely academic of course. She would not err from her purpose. She had been created for a reason.

She would devour every trace of Sargeras's minions, every tainted spark of unholy energy, drive them from every shadow and refuge. She would cleanse the dark night of the forest until only she remained to guard it.

She would hunt until every last one of her prey had been brought to bay and utterly consumed.

Ypsis took a bite, chewed, and swallowed.

There was something glorious about the hunt.

Ж

Tyrande Whisperwind stood alone on a balcony atop the Temple of the Moon, listening to the sigh of the trees, listening to the whispers the wind brought to her in the moonlight. She knew every sound, every birdcall, every rippling brook, every sussurruss of dancing grass.

And yet it was still new to her. This place, this refuge, this home – it was still so new to her people, and already it was scarred by their battles. She could feel it like a ghostly ache, the missing piece of Teldrassil, the immortal life that should have infused it absent.

Darnassus should have been their new beginning.

It felt more like the place where her people would dwindle into twilight.

Her gaze went to the north, and she wondered if this human child, barely a babe in the eyes of her people, might bring one or the other.

Ж

"You're sure?"

Tandira glanced up from her packing to meet Mishai's pale, rose-colored eyes, the soft pink radiance a compliment to the peach tones of her complexion. She managed a small smile, not because she thought the other priestess would truly be fooled, but because she needed to, because Mishai needed to see it.

"I am."

"You fear that the druids mean to move without consultation."

"Some among them, yes. Or their allies among the warrior clans, or the shadow-walkers. It would be a result we could ill afford, were their efforts to go awry." Tandira let the smile go, the little gesture having served what miniscule good it was capable of. "Our political minds fear war. I look to the dark side of the vision that Elune has granted us, to our counterparts in the Druidic Orders, and I see the possibility of something far worse. If we believe this prophecy will bear only evil fruit, then it may very well be a dark harvest indeed, and what we reap could be the very destruction we fear."

She set aside the silk blouse she held and took Mishai's right hand in her own. "In these times, when the evil seems nebulous, not fully understood, when it is not threat, but the _fear_ of threat that may spell doom, now is just as important a time to trust in the will of the Goddess as in any crisis. If we walk by her light, then she will not fail us. She showed us the depth of love this human was capable of. Perhaps it is this very love that we must protect and cultivate. Perhaps it is by opening our own hearts that we shall secure his."

Mishai nodded after a moment. "You are very brave, sister." Her words were quiet.

"I have hope." Tandira let her own expression reflect the desperation she felt inside. "I _must_ hope. I'm not sure what else to do. I don't know how to bring about one future and not the other. I'm not entirely certain it is the goddess' will that we do so. But I must hope in her. I must believe that this can end well."

"Then I too, shall hope." Mishai hugged her abruptly close. "It will not be the same without you here. Vaelomi is always lost in her oracles and her signs."

"I wouldn't say _lost_, sister." Vaelomi's tone was mildly irritable as she entered Tandira's bedchamber, arms folded. "Occupied perhaps. Intent on our work, certainly."

"Oblivious to the sound of the tea kettle, beyond all doubt." Mishai's sudden smile was impish.

Vaelomi's eyebrows rose ever so slightly. "My attention is meant for weighty affairs, and I'd remind you, sister, I'm not the only one who's let that tea kettle boil dry."

Tandira couldn't help but smile, clasping their hands in hers. "I shall miss you, sisters. It has been long since we were parted more than a space of hours."

"Well if we don't help you finish packing, that parting may be put off a while longer since you'll miss the tide." Vaelomi's tone was wry. She pulled one of Tandira's shirts from a drawer. "I have not been idle. You will have plentiful aid on your journey, and we will see you safely returned to Darnassus." Her gaze turned distant. "Indeed, it is here where the darkness begins to deepen in my auguries. Hurry back with the human child. I've no wish to face such darkness with our strength divided."

Tandira felt a foreboding chill. The tone was offhand, but the words were dire, the warning behind them only deepening her apprehension. "Here is where we are strongest, sister."

"So we are. In Teldrassil's boughs rests the greater part of our people. I have to hope, as you do, that this mortal child with eyes full of terrible love is meant to part that darkness, and not seal us beneath it."

It was with those words still murmuring in her ears and troubling her heart that Tandira left the Temple of the Moon, ghosting through the starlit shadows and among the alabaster pillars of Darnassus, moving quickly across the silver-drenched bridges, passing the sentinels who watched over this still-new refuge of an ancient people.

It was not a joyful hope that she had spoken of, there in the Temple chambers. Indeed, there was little of joy to be found in it. It was a hope born of desperation. It was not a hope that the light might triumph, might banish the darkness. It was a hope that the darkness at least might be borne, that by Elune's grace, the _Kal_'_dorei_ people might pass through it. She had not even such hope as Vaelomi, to wish for victory.

Tandira hoped merely for her people's survival, because in spite of her own words, fear grew in her, coiled its black tendrils fast about her heart.

She threaded the narrow path through the roots of the Tree of Passage and emerged outside of Rut'theran. The moon hung high and full, the vicar of Elune shining her light full and brilliant on the waves of the ocean, turning it to luminous silver.

Tandira's steps quickened.

At the end of the dock, the _Ne'Aluina_ rode at anchor, lithe shapes at work in the rigging, her _kal'dorei_ crew making last-minute preparations for her northward voyage. Tandira ran, cloak fluttering behind her, the pack with her belongings over one shoulder, ignoring the questioning calls of those who saw her pass, because she was desperate, and afraid.

If this human child brought any hope at all, she didn't want to lose him.

"We've a few minutes yet before we depart, Priestess," one of the sailors said with a nod as she stepped off the gangplank. "I can show you to the guest cabins if you'd like."

"Yes, thank you." Tandira glanced around her, heart racing in her chest. "Is this a fast ship?"

"Quite fast. Fast enough to outrun those lumbering orc hack-jobs easily. She'll move like smoke over the water. We'll reach Northrend in good time, I can assure you."

Tandira closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Somehow it was easier here, under the full brilliant light of the moon, out on the water, feeling the ship beneath her feet, knowing that the power of her goddess was all about her. The fear eased.

_Mother Moon_, she prayed. _Let us cross the world with your speed, for we have such need of it. Shelter us in your light, and guide us. The night is dark._

Ж

K'dzok could hear Nabniath, singing to herself. The undead sorceress couldn't carry a tune in a bucket with the lid welded shut and a gnomish minstrel trapped inside, the notes all off-key, discordant and jangling, chaotic and with no meter he could discern. Like nails grating on bone, her breathy voice seemed to scratch at the edges of the mind. She clung to the rigging with one hand, gray flesh tight across her emaciated shape but for her sagging bosom, rags fluttering about her bony body, awash in cold moonlight, leaning out perilously over the edge of the zeppelin, crooning to the wind.

It howled back, as if in answer, and the zeppelin shuddered in its punishing embrace.

Nabniath seemed unperturbed by the quivering convulsions, song rising and falling, the glowing red embers of her eyes fixed on the north, her free hand clawing at the night air with stick-thin, knob-knuckled digits.

She was utterly free, K'dzok thought as he squatted in the lee of the aft deck. She was utterly free, and utterly mad, and it was impossible to say which had caused the other, or if they were simply two sides of the same coin. She was a circle with no beginning, no ending, spinning unhindered, a ring of unadulterated entropy, the very stuff that creation itself was formed from.

She simply _was_.

He admired that about her.

K'dzok took another long pull from the bottle tightly clutched in one hand and felt powerful alcohol burn its path anew down to his belly. His other hand was knotted in the rope webbing that held the cargo to the deck. He was drunk, probably more than he should be, but at a point where it didn't matter any more.

For some reason he'd thought the other forsaken onboard would flock to her, bask in her shadow, but they avoided her even more zealously than the living, gazes wary, scuttling from her sight whenever she cast her burning ruby gaze upon them. He found it exceedingly curious, their reaction, as though she carried a plague, an illness of some sort that they imagined would melt the last of their tattered flesh from their scabrous bones and devour even the time-scoured ivory of their putrid frames.

The wind kicked up again, shrieking like a thing gone mad, slamming into the side of the zeppelin, smashing it sideways across the sky. The deck tilted, and above the keen of the wind, K'dzok could hear Nabniath laughing, saw her clinging by one hand to the rigging, arms and legs spread, the wisps of her dead white hair a glowing cloud obscuring her face.

Goblins and forsaken shouted, hung on to whatever they could reach as the deck canted further, and K'dzok's head turned at the sound of wood giving way, the world sliding blearily and beautifully past. An orc female clung to an iron stanchion at the rail, body heavy and burdened with child. The wood around it was rotted, and as he watched, it began to splinter. Another orc, a male and probably her mate, was working his way desperately along the rail, hand over hand, clearly trying to reach her before the handhold gave entirely.

He was too slow. With a last creak and a groan, the stanchion broke free of its sockets in the rail, and K'dzok watched the female's swollen, engorged shape thump and tumble across the wooden planking. K'dzok started to laugh – it had been a long time since he'd seen anything so comical as her ungainly tumble, ending with a bounce that jounced her out into the open air, her eyes widening in her battered and bloodied face, lips parted in a last, hopeless cry, perhaps even a prayer.

She was dead and she knew it.

K'dzok heard a bellow from up the deck, drained the last of his bottle, and let it go, watching the glass glint and shimmer like a jewel in the moonlight as it spun toward the world far below. His free hand caught the orc male by the back of his belt before he could plunge to the same death as his mate and unborn spawn.

K'dzok looked into those lost, grief-stricken eyes and roared with mirth at the expression on the orc's features. Then he pulled him close and his tusks dug furrows in the green flesh of his captive's face as he crushed their mouths together, tasting the salt of tears and blood as his tongue snaked inward, teeth biting.

He wasn't normally all that partial to orcs, but tonight - tonight K'dzok was drunk enough that he'd do just about anything.

Ж

* * *

**Author's Postscript Notes:**

**As always, I leave you with a request for constructive criticism. If you see typos, grammar errors, awkward lines, or something just plain sucks or doesn't fit, please let me know that in the reviews! Help me be a better writer, and I'll give you better stuff to read! Comments and questions are always welcome too!**

**Thanks goes to those of you who've been kind enough to leave reviews thus far.**


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